"How  I  Did  It 


H.H.Y\NLOAN 


(LIBRARY     I 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFQRH* 
SAN  DICQG       \ 


V 


H.  H.  Van  Loan 


"HOW  I  DID  IT 


by 
H.  H.  VAN  LOAN 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


THE  WHITTINOHAM  PRESS 
Los  ANOELKS,  CALIFORNIA 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 

BT 
H.  H.  VAN  LOAN 

First  Edition 


The  aspiring  author  who  is  struggling  as 
I  hare  struggled,  this  book  is  dedicated. 


AN  APPRECIATION 

/  have  watched  Mr.  Van  Loan's  rise  to  the  higher 
stellar  spaces  of  achievement  in  screen  writing  from  the 
time  he  forsook  his  following  as  one  of  New  York's 
leading  journalists  to  become  Director  of  Publicity  for 
the  Universal  Film  Company.  He  began  his  career  as 
a  photo  playwright  with  very  little  of  the  knowledge  he 
now  imparts  to  you. 

This  book  is  not  offered  as  a  course  of  instruction,  but 
simply  as  a  plain,  straightforward  review  of  Mr.  Van 
Loan's  ideas  and  methods  of  creating  and  assembling 
his  stories. 

The  publication  of  this  work  has  been  the  result  of  the 
following  circumstances:  About  two  years  ago  Mr.  Van 
Loan  was  requested  to  prepare  a  series  of  articles  on 
photoplay  writing  for  the  Los  Angeles  Evening  Express, 
and  later  for  the  San  Francisco  Bulletin,  the  Oakland 
(Col.)  Tribune,  the  Phoenix  (Ariz.)  Republican,  the  San 
Diego  Tribune  and  the  Hudson  (N.  Y.)  Morning  Repub- 
lican. 

When  I  saw  the  hundreds  of  letters  that  poured  in  on 
Mr.  Van  Loan,  commending  him  for  the  wonderful  aid 
he  had  given  to  aspiring  screen  authors,  I  made  an  ar- 
rangement with  him  to  publish  this  volume. 

Having  been  identified  with  the  making  of  motion  pic- 
tures for  several  years,  I  can  heartily  and  honestly  recom- 
mend this  work  as  the  most  instructive  and  helpful 
treatise  of  its  kind  I  have  ever  seen. 

LINDSAY  MCKENNA. 


Among  H.  H.  Van  Loan's  Successes  Are: 

Vive  La  France Dorothy  Dalton 

*The  New  Moon Norma  Talmadge 

The  Virgin  of  Stamboul  .  .  .  Priscilla  Dean 

Three  Gold  Coins Tom  Mix 

The  Great  Redeemer House  Peters 

The  Wonderful  Chance  .  .  Eugene  O'Brien 

The  Speed  Maniac Tom  Mix 

Fightin'  Mad William  Desmond 

Bring  Him  In Earle  Williams 

The  Third  Eye .  .  Warner  Gland-Eileen  Percy 
The  Highest  Trump  ....  Earle  Williams 
The  Breaking  Point  .  .  .  Bessie  Barriscale 
*A  Rogue's  Romance  ....  Earle  Williams 
Winning  With  Wits  .  .  .  Barbara  Bedford 

Blue  Streak  McCoy Harry  Carey 

When  a  Man  Loves Earle  Williams 

The  Sage  Brush  Trail Roy  Stewart 

Storm-Swept  .  .  .  Wallace  and  Noah  Beery 

Thundering  Silence All-Star 

The  Siren  of  Seville All-Star 

The  Drivin'  Fool Wally  Van 

Mickey  Flynn All-Star 

•Reissued  1922. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I— THE  AUTHOR'S  ERA     ...  1 

II— MOSTLY  ABOUT  IDEAS     .     .  17 

III— KNOW  YOUR  SUBJECT     .     .  53 

IV— CONSTRUCTING  THE  STORY  66 

V— SUSPENSE 77 

VI— PERSISTENCY 89 

VII— TITLES 107 

VIII— PRESENTATION 114 

IX— ADAPTATIONS 124 

X— MARKETING  THE  STORY  .     .  135 

XI— HIGHLIGHTS  OF  PRODUCTION 

TECHNICALITIES     ...  144 

XII— L'ENVOI  155 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

H.  H.  Van  Loan,  Frontispiece. 

Virginia  Brown  Faire 

Bessie  Love 

Guy  Bates  Post 

Tom  Mix 

Dorothy  Dal  ton 

Noah    Beery,    Arline    Pretty,    Wallace    Beery,    Virginia 

Brown  Faire,  Robert  Thornby  and  the  author 
Loew's  State  Theatre,  Los  Angeles,  during  the  run  of 

"Fightin'  Mad" 
Eugene   O'Brien  discussing   "The  Wonderful   Chance" 

with  the  author. 
House  Peters 

Wally  Van  and  the  author  discussing  "The  Drivin'  Fool" 
Dorothy  Dalton,  Thomas  H.  Ince,  C.  Gardner  Sullivan 

and  the  author' discussing  "Vive  la  France" 
Eugene  O'Brien 
Nbrma  Talmadge  and  the  author  talking  over  the  plot  of 

"The  New  Moon" 
Eileen  Percy 
Olga  Printzlau 
Warner  Oland 
James  Young 
Earle  Williams 
Hope  Hampton 
William  Desmond 
Priscilla  Dean  and  the  author  looking  over  the  criticisms 

of  "The  Virgin  of  Stamboul" 
The  Strand  Theatre,  San  Francisco,  during  the  run  of 

"Three  Gold  Coins" 
Guy  Price 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  AUTHOR'S  ERA 

There  have  been  three  eras  in  the  history 
of  moving  pictures.  The  first  was  the  indi- 
vidual or  company  era,  during  which  these 
two  factors  were  the  most  important  in  the 
making  of  productions.  After  the  manufac- 
turer's era  the  industry  entered  its  second 
stage  and  the  star  proceeded  to  focus  the  ad- 
miration of  the  public.  Everything  and  every- 
body, everywhere,  bowed  in  deep  respect  to 
the  principal  actors  in  photoplays.  It  was 
during  this  period  that  the  favorite  actors 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  their  names  in 
a  blaze  of  incandescents  in  front  of  theatres. 
Their  names  became  household  words.  There 
is  no  doubt  about  the  influence  of  the  screen. 
It  is  universal  in  its  appeal  because  all  can  see 
and  understand  its  message.  In  this  it  far 
exceeds  the  limitations  of  the  legitimate  stage. 
The  result  has  been  that  Charles  Chaplin, 
Mary  Pickford  and  Douglas  Fairbanks  are  as 


"Hotc  I  Did  It" 


well  known  in  Stamboul  as  they  are  right  here 
in  America.  Not  one  star  of  the  legitimate 
stage  can  boast  of  such  far-reaching  popu- 
larity. 

The  star  was  not  tardy  in  realizing  he  was 
a  box-office  attraction.  The  producer  soon 
became  acquainted  with  this  fact.  The  result 
was  that  during  this  era  fabulous  salaries 
were  paid  to  the  stellar  lights  in  the  moving 
picture  industry.  It  seemed  for  a  time  as 
though  a  wave  of  frenzied  finance  was  sweep- 
ing the  industry.  Producers  seemed  to  lose 
their  sense  of  values.  In  mad  delirium  they 
battled  with  each  other  for  the  services  of  a 
particular  star.  This  was  music  to  the  ears 
of  the  stars  and  they  sat  back  and  smiled  as 
they  dictated  their  terms  to  the  producer. 
The  stars  stated  their  salaries,  and  it  often 
meant  hundreds  or  thousands  a  week  to  their 
employers.  The  producer  met  their  terms, 
apparently  without  much  objection. 

That  was  a  wonderful  era,  and  it  will  oc- 
cupy an  important  chapter  in  amusement  and 
theatrical  history.  It  was  the  first  time  in 
the  annals  of  his  profession  that  the  actor  had 


Authors9  Era 


ever  been  paid  a  respectable  salary.  But  the 
actor's  era  was  comparatively  short-lived.  It 
was  doomed  to  fail,  partially  because  of  the 
bombastic  arrogance  which  accompanied  the 
rise  of  a  group  who  had  suddenly  been  ele- 
vated into  popularity.  Many  of  them  had 
not  the  ability  to  succeed  on  the  speaking 
stage  because  of  poor  >  diction,  lack  of  grace 
and  weak  voices.  The  silent  drama  offered 
new  possibilities  for  them  and  they  were  not 
slow  in  grasping  the  opportunity.  Their  suc- 
cess was  accompanied  by  unreasonable  de- 
mands made  of  the  producer.  Some  of  those 
who  made  these  demands  were  'idols  of  the 
public,  with  immense  drawing  power  as  box- 
office  attractions,  and  the  producer  could 
either  meet  their  terms  or  lose  fortunes.  The 
producer  was  absolutely  in  their  power. 

But  the  actor  had  overlooked  one  very  im- 
portant truth.  As  time  progressed  it  became 
more  and  more  apparent  that  the  stars  were 
not  big  enough  to  hold  the  interest  of  the 
audience  without  proper  vehicles  and  good 
material  in  the  way  of  stories.  Such  favorites 
as  Fairbanks  and  Pickford  found  their  popu- 


"How  I  Did  It" 


larity  in  the  balance,  because  of  the  lack  of 
good  photoplays.  "The  Mark  of  Zorro" 
brought  Fairbanks  back  with  a  bang,  and 
"The  Three  Musketeers"  proved  beyond  all 
reasonable  doubt  that  he  had  regained  his 
position  as  one  of  the  foremost  actors  of  the 
screen.  Mary  Pickford  proved  by  her  excel- 
lent work  in  "Stella  Maris"  that  she  is  a  great 
actress,  and  thus  endeared  herself  to  her  mil- 
lions of  admirers.  "Mary  Pickford,"  the 
ideal,  will  always  be  loved  by  the  entire 
world,  and  Mary  Pickford,  the  actress,  will 
find  it  difficult  to  live  up  to  that  ideal.  "The 
Kid"  re-established  Charles  Chaplin  in  the 
hearts  of  millions  and  it  is  doubtful  if  anyone 
will  ever  be  able  to  crowd  him  out.  His  work 
is  distinctive  and  different  and  his  fame  is  per- 
manent. 

After  the  actor's  era,  came  the  era  wherein 
the  director  was  given  an  opportunity  to  show 
his  ability.  His  era  is  now  drawing  to  its 
close,  and  we  must  admit  that  his  inning  has 
not  been  as  important  or  as  successful  as  the 
one  which  preceded  it. 


bo   o 
c  ,-) 


Authors9  Era 


During  the  actor's  era  many  new  names 
were  introduced  to  the  screen — names  that 
will  shine  illustriously  for  years  to  come. 
When  the  careers  of  some  of  these  artists  are 
ended  it  will  be  difficult  to  fill  their  places  or 
forget  the  sweetness  and  charm  they  have 
added  to  the  screen.  But  with  very  few  ex- 
ceptions, the  director's  era  has  not  been  a 
great  success  and  not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
names  will  remain  pre-eminent  in  the  years 
to  come.  One  reason  for  this  is  that  too  many 
have  unconsciously  sacrificed  great  careers 
because  they  were  not  content  to  devote  all 
their  efforts  to  directing.  They  wanted  to 
become  authors  as  well.  No  man  can  do  two 
things  and  do  them  well.  A  director  should 
not  attempt  to  write  photoplays,  and  an 
author  should  not  seek  to  direct,  other  than 
his  own  stories.  The  director  has  a  right  to 
suggest,  and  the  author  is  entitled  to  super- 
vise and  assist,  but  when  either  of  them  seeks 
to  do  the  work  of  the  other  the  result  is  far 
from  satisfactory. 

Too  many  times  the  director  has  felt  that 
he  knew  more  about  the  story  than  the  author. 


How  I  Did  It" 


He  consistently  and  persistently  ignored  the 
author  and  permitted  his  egotism  and  van- 
ity to  distort,  deface,  massacre  and  mutilate 
perfectly  good  plots.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
the  director  has  done  good  work,  but  he  could 
have  done  better  if  he  had  worked  more  har- 
moniously with  the  creator  of  the  story.  How- 
ever, it  is  with  pleasure  that  we  record  the  im- 
provement of  the  director  along  this  line,  and 
of  late  he  has  been  quite  eager  and  anxious  to 
consult  the  author  and  get  his  ideas  in  con- 
nection with  the  preparation  of  the  script  as 
regards  sets,  spectacles  and  situations. 

However,  we  must  not  attempt  to  minimize 
the  importance  of  the  director.  He  is  the 
most  important  figure  in  the  making  of  a 
moving  picture,  and  the  ultimate  outcome  of 
a  production  rests  solely  on  his  ability.  He 
has  it  within  his  power  to  make  something 
worthy  out  of  something  weak.  Under  his 
guidance,  poor  material  can  be  made  into 
something  big  and  impressive.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  can  take  something  rich  and  beauti- 
ful and  make  of  it  an  ugly  thing.  The  suc- 
cess or  failure  of  a  production  depends  upon 


Authors9  Era 


the  director.  The  author  is  the  architect.  He 
draws  the  plans.  The  director  is  the  builder. 
He  can  erect  a  fine  structure  which  will  re- 
main firm  and  steadfast,  withstanding  the 
ravages  of  time,  or  he  can  build  an  unsightly 
edifice,  which  will  crumble  and  fall  imme- 
diately upon  completion. 

If  the  director  is  given  a  fool-proof  story 
he  cannot  go  wrong.  He  has  never  failed  to 
give  the  public  something  worth-while,  when 
given  such  a  story,  and  he  never  will  fall 
down  if  provided  with  a  script  which  has  a 
smooth-running  plot,  with  good  suspense, 
plenty  of  action,  charming  romance  and  hu- 
man appeal.  But  if  he  is  given  a  story  which 
has  illogical  situations,  glaring  inconsistencies 
and  unnatural  sequences,  he  will  try  and 
make  something  presentable  out  of  it.  If  he 
succeeds,  after  considerable  juggling  and  tilt- 
ing, to  make  something  good  out  of  something 
bad,  he  deserves  all  the  credit  the  public  is 
willing  to  give  him. 

The  era  which  will  be  the  last  and  the 
most  important  of  them  all  is  just  arriving. 
It  is  going  to  be  the  era  of  the  author:  the 


"flow  /  Did  It 


age  when  he  will  come  into  his  own.  In  the 
future  the  story  is  going  to  be  the  thing. 
Everything  else  will  be  of  lesser  importance. 
It  should  have  been  so  from  the  very  begin- 
ning, and  would  have  been,  had  the  producer 
been  willing  to  admit  the  importance  of  the 
story.  But  he  found  to  his  regret,  many 
times,  that  the  biggest  star  and  the  best  di- 
rector were  not  able  to  make  great  pictures 
from  poor  material.  He  also  discovered  it  is 
possible  for  a  good  story  to  "make"  a  star  or 
director.  In  other  words,  the  producer  has 
learned  that  no  man  can  do  good  work  with 
a  poor  kit  of  tools. 

In  the  past,  the  producer  has  not  smiled 
kindly  on  the  original  writer,  or  photodrama- 
tist.  For  several  years  he  refused  to  recog- 
nize the  importance  of  the  original  story,  or 
photoplay,  and  was  content  to  purchase  screen 
rights  to  books,  novels,  plays  and  short 
stories.  Now  and  then  he  dipped  into  the 
classics.  In  those  days  the  screen  writer  was 
poorly  equipped  and  poorly  paid.  He  re- 
ceived no  recognition  either  from  the  pro- 
ducer or  public.  He  was  looked  upon  as  the 


To  Olga   Prinf/lau   the   Author  of  This   Work  Is   Greatly   Indebted  for 
Whatever  Success  He  Has  Attained  as  a  Photodrarnatist 


Authors9  Era 


last  resort  for  a  story.  He  belonged  to  no 
profession  and  his  work  was  not  accepted  as 
an  important  part  of  the  success  of  a  picture. 
This  was  because  the  picture  itself  was  not 
accepted  as  a  form  of  entertainment  that 
would  ever  become  popular  with  the  masses. 
It  appealed  to  a  limited  number  of  people  in 
those  days.  When  the  producer  was  in  a 
pinch,  the  screen  writer  would  dash  off  a  story 
after  dinner  and  deliver  it  the  next  morning, 
and  by  noon  the  picture  would  be  half  fin- 
ished. Sometimes  the  producer  and  writer 
would  compose  a  story  as  they  sat  beside  the 
camera. 

But  as  the  screen  progressed  and  gradually 
interested  the  more  seriously  minded,  the 
screen  writer  advanced  with  it,  until  the  pro- 
ducer finally  realized  the  profession  of  screen 
writing  was  becoming  a  very  valuable  asset  to 
the  production  of  moving  pictures. 

However,  the  producer  did  a  lot  of  experi- 
menting before  he  was  willing  to  admit  that 
screen  writing  was  an  art  in  itself.  There 
came  a  period  when  producers  stampeded  for 
the  screen  rights  to  popular  books,  plays  and 


"How  I  Did  It 


short  stories,  and  in  their  delirious  attempt  to 
outdo  their  competitors  the  producers  paid 
enormous  prices  for  permission  to  reproduce 
these  works  on  the  screen.  Soon  they  discov- 
ered they  had  made  a  mistake,  and  millions 
of  dollars  were  spent  before  they  learned  that 
screen  writing  is  a  separate  profession  and 
requires  a  special  kind  of  work. 

Novelists  and  playwrights  rushed  to  gather 
in  some  of  the  big  money.  Some  of  them 
made  great  efforts  to  become  photoplay- 
wrights.  They  soon  discovered  that  photo- 
playwriting  is  different  from  all  other  forms 
of  literary  work.  They  were  weighed  in  the 
balance  and  found  wanting.  They  had  scoffed 
and  sneered  at  the  screen  in  its  youth  and  had 
refused  to  take  it  seriously,  with  the  result 
that  the  screen,  meantime,  had  progressed  and 
proved  that  instead  of  being  a  temporary  fad, 
it  had  come  to  stay. 

Meantime,  the  screen  writer  had  plugged 
along  conservatively  and  consistently.  He 
spent  more  time  in  writing  his  stories,  and 
the  price  of  his  creations  consistently  rose  be- 
cause they  represented  more  care,  time  and 


10 


Authors9  Era 


thought.  He  compelled  the  producer  to  rec- 
ognize his  importance,  and  before  long  the 
producer  admitted  that  the  success  or  failure 
of  a  production  was  almost  entirely  due  to  the 
work  of  the  screen  writer.  He  realized  more 
and  more  that  the  continuity,  written  by  the 
screen  writer,  was  capable  of  reaping  big 
financial  harvests  or  absolutely  spoil  any 
chances  the  story  might  have  had  of  success. 
And  eventually  a  new  profession — the  pro- 
fession of  photodramatist — came  to  be  rec- 
ognized by  producer,  press  and  public. 

A  photodramatist  is  not  necessarily  a  con- 
tinuity writer,  or  scenario  writer.  A  photo- 
dramatist  is  a  writer  who  writes  his  stories  in 
dramatic  pictures.  Many  of  them  were 
schooled  and  received  their  training  as  sce- 
nario writers;  many  of  them  were  continuity 
writers.  A  number  of  them  now  confine  their 
talents  to  writing  detailed  synopses  of  their 
plots  and  leave  the  mechanical  work  of  the 
script  to  the  continuity  writers. 

The  photodramatist,  or  screen  author  of 
today,  works  in  the  same  fashion  that  novelists 
and  dramatists  do.  He  isolates  himself  and 


11 


"How  I  Did  It" 


surrounds  himself  with  the  greatest  privacy 
while  he  is  working  on  a  script.  He  doesn't 
dash  out  a  story  overnight.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  spends  days  and  weeks,  even  months, 
concentrating  on  his  subject,  in  order  that  he 
may  put  into  his  story  the  best  of  his  creative 
ability.  He  has  found  that  it  pays,  and 
whereas  he  at  one  time  received  twenty-five 
dollars  for  a  story,  today  he  is  paid  from  one 
thousand  to  ten  thousand  dollars  for  his 
script.  In  the  future  he  will  probably  re- 
ceive even  more.  His  work  is  entirely  differ- 
ent from  that  of  the  dramatist,  novelist  and 
short  story  writer.  The  screen  brought  op- 
portunity to  writers  who  had  been  handi- 
capped in  the  past  because  there  was  no  mar- 
ket for  their  product.  There  were  many 
writers  capable  of  creating  big  dramatic  plots 
and  yet  were  unable  to  sell  them  because  they 
had  no  literary  style.  If  they  happened  to 
have  style,  it  was  not  attractive  enough  to 
command  the  attention  of  magazine  editors  or 
book  publishers.  They  might  have  been  ex- 
pert in  handling  narrative  or  descriptive  mat- 
ter, but  inefficient  when  it  came  to  the  treat- 


12 


Authors9  Era 


ment  of  dialogue.  Or  perhaps  they  did  not 
know  how  to  build  up  action.  On  the  other 
hand,  they  might  have  been  able  to  write  good 
dialogue,  but  lacked  descriptive  and  narrative 
ability.  Therefore,  until  recently,  there  was 
absolutely  no  market  for  the  material  they 
turned  out.  Again,  lack  of  sufficient  educa- 
tion prevented  the  work  of  many  writers  from 
being  accepted  by  literary  editors.  They 
might  have  had  wonderful  plots,  filled  with 
big  action,  but  were  incapable  of  describing 
that  action  in  a  smooth  and  attractive  style. 

But  the  moving  picture  gave  these  writers 
an  opportunity  of  disposing  of  their  work. 
This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  screen  pic- 
turizes  the  plot,  and  depends  very  little  on  the 
dialogue  or  other  elements  so  necessary  to 
good  fiction  writing. 

The  road  of  the  photodramatist  has  not 
been  a  pleasant  one.  It  hasn't  been  paved. 
It  was  a  long,  hard  trail,  and  the  journey  was 
filled  with  struggles  and  discouragements.  It 
was  choked  with  sacrifices  and  sufferings. 
But  those  who  have  arrived  at  the  brow  of 
the  hill  will  admit  to  the  aspirant  that  it  was 


13 


"How  I  Did  /t" 


with  the  suffering  and  sacrificing  that  they 
progressed,  and  that  it  was  the  gaining  that 
gave  them  pleasure,  perhaps  even  more  than 
the  attainment. 

The  cry  of  the  producer  today  is:  "Give 
me  an  original  story !  .  .  .  I'm  sick  of  books 
and  plays!" 

A  few  months  ago  a  screen  author  sub- 
mitted a  story  to  a  well-known  producer. 
The  producer  read  it  and  accepted  it.  After- 
wards he  stated  that  at  the  same  time  he  pur- 
chased this  story  he  refused  a  script  written 
by  a  well-known  playwright.  According  to 
the  producer,  the  playwright  had  refused  to 
take  the  screen  seriously  and  had  written  a 
very  poor  story,  which  revealed  lack  of  care 
and  study  in  its  preparation.  He  felt  con- 
vinced that  he  would  be  able  to  sell  the  story 
on  the  strength  of  his  reputation.  But  he 
must  have  been  greatly  surprised  when  the 
story  was  returned  to  him.  Producers  are  not 
buying  reputations  any  more.  They've  been 
stung  too  often.  The  playwright's  story  had 
been  told  in  three  typewritten  pages,  while  the 
story  written  by  the  screen  author  was  on  fifty 


14 


Authors9  Era 


pages,  and  to  quote  the  producer,  "was  writ- 
ten by  one  who  knew  his  screen." 

These  things  are  told  the  reader  to  show 
that  the  screen  is  the  infant  amusement  and 
emphasize  its  importance;  to  familiarize  the 
unacquainted  with  the  revolutionizing  steps 
already  taken.  Its  progress  has  been  slow 
and  conservative,  perhaps  a  little  sensational 
at  times,  but  we  can  overlook  its  recklessness, 
for,  like  all  youths,  it  was  trying  hard  to  find 
itself.  Its  future  is  going  to  be  glorious. 
There  will  be  new  faces.  New  stars  will  come 
and  go,  but  they  will  never  twinkle  as  they 
did  when  the  industry  was  in  swaddling 
clothes. 

Henceforth,  the  story  will  be  the  thing,  and 
the  writer  who  takes  the  screen  seriously,  and 
spends  plenty  of  care  and  thought  in  the  prep- 
aration of  his  work,  will  deliver  contributions 
which  will  gain  for  him  not  only  fame  in  this 
generation,  but  they  will  be  preserved  in  ar- 
chives and  later  re-issued  that  posterity  may 
have  a  knowledge  of  the  great  photodrama- 
tists  of  the  present  age. 


16 


"Hot*  I  Did  It" 


So,  I  say  to  the  aspiring  screen  author, 
novelist  and  playwright,  it  is  worth  the  effort. 
The  screen  will  take  you  just  as  seriously  as 
you  take  it. 

For  the  purpose  of  aiding  those  who  desire 
to  do  something  really  worth-while  for  the 
silent  drama,  I  have  written  my  experiences  in 
the  writing  and  selling  of  photodramas.  I 
intended  that  it  should  be  more  of  an  inspira- 
tional guide  than  a  text-book,  and  if  it  proves 
to  be  of  real  help  to  those  who  have  become 
discouraged,  and  is  the  means  of  their  making 
further  attempt  in  a  profession  which  is  fas- 
cinating to  say  the  least,  then  I  shall  feel  that 
it  has  accomplished  a  little  and  was  not  writ- 
ten in  vain. 


16 


CHAPTER  II 

MOSTLY  ABOUT  IDEAS 

There  are  supposed  to  be  by  actual  count — 
although  I've  been  too  busy  to  verify  it — 
about  one  hundred  million  of  us  in  the  United 
States.  And  with  the  exception  of  a  negro 
switchman,  stationed  three  miles  west  of  the 
Turnpike,  on  the  outskirts  of  Eureka,  Georgia, 
who  has  been  deaf,  dumb  and  blind  since  his 
birth,  all  of  us  have  at  times  believed  we  were 
logically  entitled  to  become  the  Shakespeare 
of  the  screen. 

That's  a  most  excellent  ambition.  But 
somewhere  between  the  first  and  second  story, 
something  snatched  the  "am"  out  of  that 
word.  The  result  has  been  that  the  screen 
has  suffered.  Something  always  has  to  suf- 
fer. However,  this  particular  sort  of  suffer- 
ing cannot  be  due  to  the  fact  that  there  is  a 
dearth  of  ideas  in  America,  or  that  creative  art 
is  on  the  decline.  The  undiscovered  talent  is 
the  greatest  talent  of  all.  If  there  is  one  na- 


17 


"How  I  Did  /*" 


tion  that  has  been  blessed  with  ideas  it  is  the 
United  States.  No  matter  where  you  go,  or 
which  way  you  turn,  you  can  behold  great 
evidences  of  ideas  that  were  born,  grew  up 
and  still  flourish  with  magnificent  success  un- 
der our  local  trademark.  The  way  in  which 
it  was  discovered  was  most  original ;  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  gained  its  independence  was 
decidedly  different,  and  the  way  it  has  gone 
about  everything  since  its  birth  has  attracted 
the  attention  and  admiration  of  the  entire 
world. 

Despite  this,  many  people  often  sigh,  after 
leaving  a  motion  picture  theatre,  and  as  they 
plod  homeward  they  are  of  the  opinion  that 
the  art  of  the  screen  is  on  the  decline  with  the 
brakes  burned  out.  They  start  to  reflect  over 
the  rise  of  steel,  oil  and  industrials,  and  fail 
to  understand  why  every  picture  released  at 
the  local  theatre  does  not  show  an  upward 
trend. 

A  picture  is  similar  to  an  egg,  in  that  it  is 
either  good  or  bad.  We  don't  find  the  grocer 
throwing  away  the  bad  eggs.  Then  why 
should  we  expect  the  producer  to  throw  a  bad 


18 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


picture  away?  It  represents  an  outlay,  just 
as  the  egg  does.  They  both  slip  across  a  bad 
one  when  we're  looking ;  only  we  can't  see  the 
inside  of  the  egg ! 

Now  then,  we  can't  expect  the  one  hundred 
million  of  us  to  devote  our  time  to  making 
hens  lay  better  eggs  or  the  producers  to  make 
better  pictures.  Few  of  us  are  familiar  enough 
with  either,  beyond  being  able  to  distinguish 
between  the  good  and  the  bad;  one  with  the 
aid  of  the  nose  and  the  -other  with  the  aid  of 
the  eyes.  But  those  of  us  who  have  ideas 
which  would  make  good  story  material,  should 
put  them  on  paper,  and  thus  be  instrumental 
in  the  making  of  better  pictures.  Some 
people  seem  to  think  that  they  haven't  any 
ideas.  But  D.  W.  Griffith  has  truthfully  said 
that  there  is  a  story  in  every  human  being ;  but 
the  trouble  is  to  get  it  out.  Perhaps  we  are 
not  of  an  observing  mind.  Some  people  never 
get  ideas  because  they  are  so  completely  sur- 
rounded with  them. 

For  example:  We  happen  to  be  passing 
along  a  busy  thoroughfare  during  the  rush 
hour.  Suddenly  we  see  a  man  stumble  over 


19 


"How  I  Did  It 


an  object  on  the  sidewalk.  His  contortions 
executed  during  his  efforts  to  keep  himself 
from  falling  make  him  resemble  a  tempera- 
mental orchestra  leader.  It  excites  laughter. 
Immediately  we  decide  that  here  is  a  great 
idea  for  a  comedy  photoplay,  and  that  such  a 
scene  would  make  an  immense  hit  on  the 
screen. 

But  the  photodramatist  will  point  out  that 
it  isn't  an  idea.  It  is  merely  a  situation ;  that 
it  isn't  original  and  is  insufficient  on  which  to 
base  a  comedy.  It  is  slap-stick.  Slap-stick 
comedy  is  practically  founded  on  the  idea  that 
laughter  is  usually  derived  from  injury. 

Originality  is  anything  which  is  a  departure 
from  the  ideal.  It  is  anything  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary. It  is  something  different.  We  argue 
that  it  is  not  quite  the  usual  thing  for  our 
residents  to  go  along  the  street  stumbling,  and 
making  frantic  efforts  to  keep  from  falling, 
and  if  they  did,  then  we  wouldn't  be  inter- 
ested and  we  wouldn't  laugh.  But  that  is 
where  we  are  wrong.  People  have  stubbed 
their  toes  ever  since  they  were  presented  with 


20 


Virginia  Brown   Faire  Played  the  Leading  Feminine  Roles  in  "Fightin" 
Mad"   and  "Storm   Swept" 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


them,  because  stupid  humanity  refuses  to 
look  where  it  treads. 

The  alert  mind — the  mind  that  has  been 
trained  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  the  extraor- 
dinary— will  point  out  that,  had  that  same 
man  discovered  the  cause  of  his  embarrass- 
ment was  a  lump  of  gold,  which  upon  inves- 
tigation proved  to  be  a  part  of  the  Mother 
Lode  which  had  been  there  for  thousands  of 
years,  his  error  would  have  been  quite  origi- 
nal. That  idea  would  be  sufficient  on  which 
to  base  a  good  dramatic  story. 

All  of  us,  each  day,  are  surrounded  with 
most  unusual  incidents,  which,  if  we  would 
put  into  stories,  would  greatly  enhance  the 
amusement  value  of  the  greatest  entertain- 
ment in  the  world  today.  When  the  author, 
playwright  or  photodramatist  completes  his 
story,  play  or  photoplay,  he  admits  that  his 
basic  idea  was  inspired  by  some  incident  that 
he  witnessed,  or  that  was  brought  to  his  at- 
tention, and  actually  happened  in  real  life. 
When  we  start  to  write  fiction  we  get  our  ma- 
terial from  facts. 


21 


"How  I  Did  /I" 


I  am  going  to  try  and  give  the  reader  some 
real  tips  on  screen  writing.  In  the  first  place 
you  must  have  an  idea.  Don't  mislead  your- 
self into  believing  that  you  have  something 
new.  There  are  only  thirty-six  plots  known  to 
civilization,  and  every  one  of  them  has  been 
used  thousands  of  times  by  authors,  novelists, 
playwrights  and  photodramatists.  You  may 
be  able  to  distort,  juggle  and  twist  those  plots 
in  various  ways — perhaps  serve  them  a  little 
differently — but  do  not  think  you  have  some- 
thing entirely  new.  There  is  absolutely 
nothing  new  this  season. 

When  you  are  stricken  with  an  idea,  and 
you  are  convinced  that  this  particular  idea 
can  be  surrounded  with  a  good  story,  sit  down 
and  write  it.  Type  it.  If  you  can't  do  that, 
have  it  typewritten.  Producers  are  too  busy 
to  read  stories  that  are  written  in  long-hand. 

Get  into  your  story  immediately.  Don't 
paint  a  glorious  background  with  a  lot  of 
words  which  don't  mean  anything.  Meaning- 
less words  only  interrupt  the  action.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  don't  leave  too  much  to  the 
imagination  of  the  reader.  Don't  glide  over  a 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


situation  and  trust  to  the  producer  to  work  it 
out.  Use  your  inventive  genius  and  describe 
in  detail  the  way  you  think  the  entire  scene 
should  be  worked  out  and  the  way  it  should 
be  acted.  If  you  were  enthusiastic  over  your 
new  home,  and  were  writing  a  relative  a  long 
distance  from  you,  you  would  undoubtedly 
describe  every  feature  of  it  in  minutest  detail. 
You  must  be  enthusiastic  over  your  story.  If 
you're  not,  then  don't  write  it.  If  you  are, 
then  you  will  describe  it  at  great  length,  just 
as  you  would  your  new  home. 

Put  plenty  of  action  into  your  story.  Keep 
your  characters  moving  all  the  time.  Be 
careful.  Do  not  make  them  do  a  lot  of  things 
which  are  not  necessary — not  important  in 
the  working  out  of  your  plot.  You  must  re- 
member that  the  screen  differs  from  the  stage 
and  the  story  in  that  movement  is  the  domi- 
nating element.  The  greatest  second  act  ever 
written  for  the  stage  can  be  reduced  to  a 
couple  of  scenes  and  one  or  two  subtitles  on 
the  screen.  That  is  because  the  photodrama- 
tist  realizes  he  must  keep  his  actors  moving  on 
the  screen,  and  unless  he  does  so,  his  audience 


"How  I  Did  It 


will  walk  out  before  the  picture  is  entirely  un- 
reeled. 

A  dramatist  uses  clever  dialogue  to  put  over 
the  big  punches  in  his  play,  but  the  screen 
author  has  to  supplement  that  dialogue  with 
real  big  action.  Action  is  the  most  important 
ingredient  in  the  photoplay.  There  must  be 
lots  of  it,  and  it  must  be  logical  and  necessary 
to  the  development  of  the  plot.  It  mustn't  be 
put  into  the  script  just  to  furnish  movement 
for  the  actors.  It  must  have  a  decided  bearing 
on  the  outcome. 

In  fact,  the  point  to  remember  in  writing 
for  the  screen  is:  First,  establish  a  reason 
for  the  story,  then  introduce  your  characters, 
and  after  you  have  done  that,  make  a  dash  for 
your  climax.  That's  all  there  is  to  it.  Estab- 
lish a  premise  and  then  rush  for  the  final 
scene.  Don't  waste  any  time  while  en  route. 
Be  sure  that  it  contains  action,  action,  and 
then  some  more  action.  Mix  a  few  thrills 
with  it.  Flavor  it  with  the  sweet  essence  of 
romance  and  throw  in  a  lot  of  suspense.  Put 
some  big  human  interest  into  it.  Bring  a 
tear  to  the  eyes  of  your  audience.  Then,  the 


24 


James  Young,  who  Directed  "The  Highest  Trump"  and  "A  Rogue's 

Romance" 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


next  instant,  chase  away  the  tear  with  a  smile. 
If  you  do  that,  then  you've  got  a  story. 

After  you  have  written  it,  sit  down  and  read 
it  over  carefully.  Read  it  with  a  critical  eye. 
Forget  that  it  is  your  story;  imagine  it  was 
written  by  someone  else.  If  it  doesn't  hold 
your  interest  then  there  is  something  wrong 
with  it.  If  there  is  something  wrong  with  it 
then  find  out  what  it  is.  Don't  let  it  go  until 
you  have  found  out.  Remember  there  is 
plenty  of  time.  The  moving  picture  industry 
is  here  to  stay  and  the  producers  are  always 
looking  for  good  stories,  so  there  is  noticed 
for  you  to  rush  your  work.  As  you  read  it 
over,  try  and  put  yourself  in  the  position  of 
the  man  who  is  going  to  read  it — the  man  you 
hope  will  buy  it.  Ask  yourself  the  same  ques- 
tions you  believe  he  will  ask  after  he  reads  it. 

Do  not  annoy  the  producer  by  sending  a 
long  letter  to  him  describing  the  merits  of 
your  story.  He  is  perfectly  capable  of  decid- 
ing whether  the  story  is  worthy  of  production 
and  he  will  be  quick  to  discover  whatever 
good  qualities  it  might  possess.  And  it  is 
quite  unnecessary  to  tell  him  the  story  is  dif- 


26 


"How  I  Did  It" 


ferent;  that  it  has  never  been  done  before. 
Everything  in  the  story  line  has  been  done 
before.  There  is  nothing  original  in  fiction. 
Anything  which  is  different  is  original. 
Therefore,  I  desire  to  rise  up  and  decry  that 
word  "original"  in  connection  with  its  use 
with  screen  stories.  It  is  a  grossly  misused 
term  as  applied  to  the  writing  of  stories, 
whether  they  be  for  the  screen,  magazine  or 
stage.  Very  few  things  that  are  being  done 
in  the  world  today  are  original.  Most  every- 
thing has  been  done  before.  A  writer  who 
submits  his  story  to  a  producer  with  the 
statement  that  it  is  original,  is  brave  indeed. 
I  would  not  care  to  state  that  "Vive  la 
France,"  "The  New  Moon,"  "The  Virgin  of 
StambouF  'or  "The  Great  Redeemer"  were 
original  stories.  They  were  based  on  fact,  and 
anything  inspired  by  actuality  cannot  be  origi- 
nal. Almost  every  story  I  have  written  has 
been  an  elaboration  of  something  which  hap- 
pened in  real  life.  Therefore,  I  consider  none 
of  them  original.  I  think  we  should  ban  that 
word  "original"  from  our  moving  picture  par- 


26 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


lance,  and  henceforth  use  the  more  appro- 
priate word,  "photoplay." 

I  am  often  asked  where  I  get  my  ideas  for 
my  stories.  I  get  them  from  real  life.  Let 
me  illustrate. 

I  awoke  one  morning  after  a  terrible  night- 
mare, with  perspiration  on  my  brow.  In  my 
sleep,  I  had  killed  a  man,  and  it  was  so 
realistic  that  I  recalled  all  the  horrible  details 
for  a  day  or  two  afterward.  But  before  I 
go  on,  let  me  state  here  that  I  am  one  of 
those  who  believe  that  writers  are  often  given 
messages  to  present  to  the  world.  If  we  train 
our  powers  of,  perception  we  will  not  often 
permit  these  messages  to  pass  unnoticed.  I 
also  believe  that  ideas  travel  in  circles,  and  if 
we  do  not  accept  the  inspiration  when  it 
comes  and  immediately  seek  to  make  use  of 
it,  we  will  probably  find  that  someone  more 
ambitious  than  ourselves  will  utilize  it,  much 
to  our  regret  later. 

The  atrocious  crime  which  my  subconscious 
self  had  committed  seemed  to  suggest  a 
story.  So  I  began  pondering  over  this  dream 
to  see  what  I  could  get  out  of  it.  I  would 


27 


"Hoic  I  Did   It 


write  a  story  wherein  the  hero  would  dream 
that  he  had  killed  a  man  who  was  a  total 
stranger  to  him.  Then,  the  next  morning,  the 
hero  would  read  in  the  newspaper  that  a  man 
had  heen  murdered  in  exactly  the  same  man- 
ner the  night  before.  The  police  would  be 
baffled.  The  hero  would  go  to  the  police  and 
confess  that  he  was  the  guilty  man. 

No,  that  wouldn't  do.  That  would  be 
stretching  fiction  too  far.  So  I  continued 
building  and  tearing  down,  until  finally  a  few 
days  later,  I  had  constructed  the  following 
story: 

An  eminent  surgeon  returned  home  after 
several  weeks  sojourn  a  few  hundred  miles 
away.  He  retired.  He  dreamed  that  he  had 
burglars  about,  he  put  on  his  dressing-gown 
killed  his  worst  enemy,  and  awakened  in  the 
most  troubled  frame  of  mind.  A  dog  bark- 
ing in  another  part  of  the  house  aroused  him 
from  his  nightmare,  and  believing  there  were 
and  went  downstairs.  He  took  a  revolver 
from  the  drawer  of  a  table  in  the  hall  and 
started  searching  the  rooms.  As  he  entered 
the  library  he  stumbled  and  the  gun  was  dis- 


28 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


charged.  He  turned  on  the  light  and  found 
the  hody  of  the  man  he  dreamt  he  had  killed, 
lying  on  the  floor.  Did  he  kill  him?  If  so, 
did  he  kill  him  in  his  sleep  or  did  he  kill  him 
as  he  entered  the  library?  That  was  the  ques- 
tion I  asked  my  audience  by  having  the  hero 
ask  the  same  question  of  himself.  In  order 
to  keep  the  audience  in  suspense  I  never 
answered  the  question  until  the  last  scene  in 
the  picture.  Of  course,  he  didn't  kill  the 
man. 

So  those  who  saw  "Bring  Him  In,"  saw  a 
story  that  was  inspired  by  a  dream  or  night- 
mare I  had  experienced  months  before. 

I  think  this  bears  out  my  statement  that 
fact  is  stranger  than  fiction.  The  creative 
genius  of  the  most  inventive  mind  could  not 
evolve  a  plot  more  dramatic  than  is  revealed 
in  the  above  story.  I  am  very  fond  of  this 
story  because  of  the  fact  that  I  received  it 
from  such  a  peculiar  source.  There's  no  rea- 
son why  those  who  write  should  throw  away 
any  valuable  time,  and  if  we  must  sleep,  then 
we  should  make  our  dreams  work  for  us. 


29 


"How  I  Did  It" 


To  those  who  aspire  to  become  photodra- 
matists,  I  want  to  impress  the  truth  that 
stories  are  like  oxygen — they  are  around  us 
everywhere.  But  we  must  have  the  creative 
ability  to  recognize  them.  We  must  train  our 
minds  to  differentiate  between  that  which  is 
ordinary  and  that  which  is  commonplace. 
Again  I  will  illustrate: 

One  of  the  reporters  on  a  New  York  daily 
brought  in  a  story  one  day  about  an  explosion 
on  a  building  in  course  of  construction  on  the 
West  Side  of  the  city.  The  explosion  blew 
two  Italian  laborers  from  a  high  scaffolding, 
killing  both  of  them.  There  was  the  story,  as 
he  saw  it. 

But  upon  questioning  the  reporter,  the  city 
editor  learned  that  a  baby  asleep  in  a  go-cart, 
not  more  than  fifty  feet  from  the  scene  of  the 
accident,  was  not  only  uninjured,  but  re- 
mained undisturbed  and  slept  through  all  the 
excitement. 

There,  to  the  editor's  mind,  was  the  story — 
the  more  dramatic  aspect  of  the  incident — and 
so  he  told  the  reporter  to  write  half  a  column 
about  that  baby,  and  make  only  casual  men- 


30 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


tion  of  the  two  laborers.  Why  did  the  editor 
devote  so  much  space  to  the  baby  who  was  not 
killed,  and  only  a  paragraph  to  the  two  men 
who  were  blown  to  atoms?  Because  the 
trained  mind  of  the  editor  knew  that  the  death 
of  two  Italian  laborers  was  not  worth  any- 
thing as  a  news  story.  Such  stories  are  com- 
mon. They  are  not  unusual  and  happen  most 
every  day  in  any  big  city  where  construction 
is  going  on  all  the  time.  But  the  fact  that  a 
defenseless  baby  was  within  fifty  feet  of  the 
explosion  and  remained  asleep  throughout  all 
the  excitement  was  indeed  remarkable.  It 
was  unusual,  out  of  the  ordinary.  It  was 
"different,"  and  therefore  a  good  story. 

Hardly  a  day  passes  that  the  newspapers  do 
not  print  material  which  would  furnish  the 
basis  of  good  fiction  stories.  When  I  say  this 
I  do  not  mean  to  convey  the  thought  that  such 
stories  could  be  taken  as  printed.  I  mean  that 
they  have  the  foundation  for  fiction  material, 
and  with  the  added  elements  of  romance, 
action,  suspense  and  intrigue,  offer  excellent 
possibilities  for  photoplays. 


31 


"How  I  Did  It 


Soon  after  the  Reds  gained  control  of  the 
Russian  government,  the  newspapers  printed 
a  glaring  announcement  that  the  Bolshevists 
had  abolished  the  law  of  marriage.  The 
Soviet  at  Saratof  decreed  that  henceforth  it 
would  be  unlawful  for  a  man  to  solely  possess 
his  wife,  but  that  she  would  belong  to  the 
public  and  would  become  public  property. 
The  excuse  given  for  this  remarkable  decree 
was  that  it  would  insure  the  propagation  of  a 
declining  race. 

Such  a  story  was  a  most  radical  departure 
from  the  ordinary.  It  had  never  been  equaled 
in  history.  It  was  a  tremendous  piece  of 
news,  and  the  most  barbarous  document  ever 
conceived  by  the  most  brutal  forces  of  man. 
If  such  a  decree  was  permitted  to  run  un- 
checked it  threatened  the  decency  of  the  forth- 
coming generation. 

After  considerable  effort,  I  succeeded  in 
obtaining  a  genuine  copy  of  the  original  de- 
cree. It  was  horrifying.  After  reading  its 
sixteen  articles  I  wondered  if  I  couldn't,  in  at 
least  a  small  way,  prevent  that  decree  from 
becoming  active  in  the  other  provinces  of  Rus- 


32 


Priscilla   Dean    and   H.   H.   Van   Loan  Reading  What  the  Critics   Had  to 
Say  About  "The  Virgin  of  Stamboul" 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


sia.  At  least,  I  could  reveal  to  America  and 
the  rest  of  the  civilized  world  the  illiterate 
souls  of  a  degenerate  group  of  leaders. 

So  I  wrote  a  story  called  "The  New  Moon," 
and  sold  it  to  Norma  Talmadge.  The  picture 
created  a  sensation  in  certain  sections  of  the 
country  where  anarchy  had  a  strong-hold, 
and  efforts  were  made  to  suppress  it  in  Mil- 
waukee and  Houston. 

The  anarchists  declared  the  story  was  a 
gross  untruth,  but  fortunately  the  editors  of 
the  newspapers  in  many  cities  were  familiar 
with  the  real  document  and  they  came  to  the 
rescue  and  pointed  out  that  I  had  moderated 
instead  of  exaggerated  the  real  truth.  In 
their  opinion,  the  picture  did  more  good  than 
a  dozen  sermons,  because  it  disclosed  a  great 
error  which  had  crept  into  the  minds  of  these 
delirious  leaders. 

Some  of  the  critics  declared  the  decree  was 
abolished  before  it  was  put  into  execution, 
but  I  will  vouch  for  the  statement  that  it  was 
enforced  in  the  Province  of  Saratof  for  three 
months,  and  I  have  since  read  some  of  the  ex- 
periences of  women  who  were  its  victims. 


33 


"How  I  Did  It" 


Could  the  ingenious  mind  of  a  writer  create 
a  plot  of  greater  dramatic  value  than  this  ?  It 
was  most  extraordinary — the  fact  that  a  group 
of  men  attempted  to  thrust  society  back  into 
a  barbarous  age  and  intended  to  destroy  all 
moral  laws  and  the  sanctity  of  the  home,  was 
sufficient  to  arouse  the  hatred  of  the  entire 
civilized  world.  Such  a  move  was  sufficient  to 
provide  a  tremendous  theme  for  a  story.  You 
might  question  the  effect  of  such  a  picture. 
The  purpose  was  to  open  the  eyes  of  such  an 
intelligent  and  progressive  country  as  America 
on  the  events  that  were  taking  place  in  a 
darkened  land,  and  the  results  when  the  civi- 
lization of  a  country  returns  to  barbarism  and 
Christianity  goes  mad.  In  this  picture  no  at- 
tempt was  made  to  teach  a  lesson.  The  actual 
facts  were  conveyed  to  the  audience  through 
the  medium  of  a  dramatic  plot  based  on  a 
truth. 

It's  the  big  themes  of  the  day  that  provide 
the  most  interesting  bases  for  good  stories. 
Not  alone  do  they  provide  good  entertainment 
for  those  of  the  present  generation,  but  they 
can  be  laid  away  in  the  archives  and  displayed 


34 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


to  posterity  as  a  record  of  events  which  trans- 
pired in  this  day  and  age. 

While  the  World  War  was  in  progress,  I 
read  a  front-page  story  in  a  newspaper  wherein 
it  was  stated  there  were  traitors  in  some  of  our 
aeroplane  factories.  They  were  supposed  to 
be  paid  agents  of  the  enemy  and  it  was  their 
duty  to  see  that  many  of  our  machines  were 
defective  when  they  left  the  factory.  Before 
they  were  discovered,  according  to  the  story, 
many  of  our  aviators  were  killed.  Most  of 
these  accidents  occurred  during  the  trial 
flights.  Another  evil  which  a  writer  could 
easily  stamp  indelibly  on  the  minds  of  the 
American  people  and  thus  put  the  government 
on  its  guard. 

Using  this  as  my  theme,  I  wrote  a  story 
called  "The  Highest  Trump,"  which  was  pur- 
chased by  the  Vitagraph  Company  and  in 
which  Earle  Williams  played  the  leading  role. 

I  went  no  further  than  the  facts  to  get  my 
story,  and  then  wove  a  romance  through  it  so 
that  it  would  have  an  amusing  appeal  to  the 
audience.  Some  of  the  government  officials 
became  so  interested  in  the  disclosures  made 


36 


"Hot*  /  Did  It" 


in  the  story  that  an  entire  aviation  field,  in- 
cluding its  aviators,  took  part  in  the  produc- 
tion. Without  one  exception,  all  the  fliers  ad- 
mitted the  story  was  an  actual  fact  and  ex- 
pressed pleasure  that  the  public  was  to  be 
made  familiar  with  another  attempt  of  the 
enemy  to  fight  unfairly. 

These  experiences  are  recorded  to  show  the 
writer  that  it  is  within  his  power  to  be  of  ines- 
timable value  to  the  public.  The  one  great 
weapon  for  fighting  great  evils  is  publicity. 
And  there  is  no  greater  power  when  it  comes 
to  this  than  the  screen. 

If  more  people  would  devote  more  time  to  a 
closer  observation  of  the  incidents  which  are 
unusual  and  which  play  such  an  important 
part  in  our  daily  lives,  the  producers  would 
have  enough  stories  to  last  them  indefinitely. 
The  reason  they  haven't  this  great  supply  at 
present  is  because  the  majority  of  us  ignore 
the  little  things  in  life  which  are  very  often 
unusual,  and  a  departure  from  the  ordinary, 
and  concentrate  on  those  things  which  are 
commonplace.  Learn  to  differentiate  between 
the  ordinary  and  the  unusual.  That's  the  se- 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


cret  of  not  only  successful  photoplaywriting 
but  all  other  forms  of  literary  work.  The  best 
stories  are  never  written,  because  we  pass 
them  by.  We  should  devote  more  of  our  time 
to  putting  ourselves  on  the  alert  for  those  lit- 
tle things  which  form  such  an  infinitesimal 
part  of  our  daily  lives,  and  yet  which  would 
have  such  tremendous  appeal  if  seen  on  the 
screen.  "The  Miracle  Man"  was  a  very  sim- 
ple story;  a  very  great  story.  It  was  simple 
in  that  it  showed  what  happens  when  the  evil 
forces  meet  the  better  and  nobler  qualities 
which  are  in  all  of  us.  It  was  a  great  story 
because  of  the  fine  dramatic  way  in  which  it 
was  told.  It  delivered  a  message  without  a 
preachment.  People  do  not  go  to  the  theatre 
to  look  at  sermons.  They  go  to  be  amused 
and  to  relax.  But  if  we  can  give  them  some- 
thing which  may  help  them  to  become  a  little 
better,  without  subtracting  from  the  dramatic 
interest  and  sublime  suspense  which  we  all 
love,  then  we  are  doing  a  real  service  to 
humanity. 

If  you  can  write  a  story  which  has  plenty  of 
action,  red-blooded  drama,  thrilling  suspense, 


37 


"How  I  Did  It 


charming  romance  and  startling  climaxes,  you 
have  done  something.  If  you  can  consistently 
bring  about  the  reform  of  an  evil  character, 
you  deserve  the  praise  of  your  audience.  If 
you  can  go  a  step  farther,  and  work  out  the  re- 
formation of  an  evil  character  with  the  aid  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  you  have  done  something 
worthy  of  great  tribute. 

The  reason?  The  majority  of  us  want  to  be- 
come better  men  and  women.  We  are  all 
curious,  and  curiosity  is  the  means  we  use  to 
gain  instruction.  A  bad  man  isn't  bad  be- 
cause he  wants  to  be  bad.  He's  bad  because 
he  doesn't  have  a  desire  to  be  good.  Plant 
in  him  a  desire  to  improve,  and  show  him  the 
way,  and  he  will  grasp  it. 

One  night,  a  few  years  ago,  before  prohibi- 
tion made  the  country  wet,  a  prospector,  who 
had  been  searching  for  gold  up  around  King- 
man,  Ariz.,  arrived  in  San  Bernardino,  just 
across  the  California  boundary,  with  consid- 
erable "dust"  in  his  belt.  He  wandered  into 
a  saloon  where  he  proceeded  to  "oil  up,"  and 
before  long  everybody  in  the  place  was  enjoy- 
ing his  hospitality.  The  scene  gradually  be- 


38 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


came  diffused  to  the  eyes  of  all,  except  one. 
That  one  was  a  tough-looking  greaser,  who 
had  a  rather  bad  reputation  in  that  vicinity 
and  had  served  a  portion  of  his  life  behind 
bars  of  a  much  different  nature. 

This  greaser  stood  alone  at  one  end  of  the 
room  and  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  prospector 
and  the  gold  which  he  flourished  from  his 
belt.  The  bartender  was  conscious  of  the 
Mexican's  interest,  and  he  noted  that  when 
the  prospector  staggered  out  the  greaser  soon 
followed. 

The  next  morning  the  body  of  the  pros- 
pector was  found  in  an  alleyway  near  the 
saloon.  He  had  been  foully  murdered. 

The  bartender's  suspicions  were  aroused 
and  he  recalled  the  interest  manifested  by  the 
Mexican  the  night  before.  The  Mexican  was 
arrested  and  convicted  on  circumstantial  evi- 
dence. 

While  the  Mexican  was  awaiting  trial  he 
spent  most  of  his  time  drawing  pictures  on  the 
wall  of  his  cell  in  the  San  Bernardino  jail. 
The  jailer  paused  before  the  door  of  his  cell 
one  day  and  was  amazed  as  he  discovered  a 


How  I  Did  /t" 


life-sized  drawing  of  Christ  on  the  cross.  The 
picture  was  on  the  rear  panel  of  the  man's  cell 
and  was  a  faithful  reproduction  of  the  cruci- 
fixion. It  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  work,  and 
especially  interesting  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  the  artist  had  not  followed  the  usual 
conception  of  this  dramatic  moment  in  his- 
tory, but  had  given  his  own  interpretation  of 
the  tragedy. 

The  jailer  was  awed  as  he  gazed  on  the  mas- 
terpiece and  was  so  impressed  with  it  that 
he  immediately  interested  himself  in  its  lowly 
creator.  The  story  of  the  picture  soon  spread 
throughout  the  jail  and  the  other  inmates 
would  stand  before  the  cell  and  gaze  in  won- 
derment on  the  work.  They  finally  referred 
to  it  as  "The  Cell  of  the  Christ,"  and  never 
did  an  inmate  pass  that  cell  that  he  didn't 
pause  to  bow  and  cross  himself  in  deep  re- 
spect. 

This  work  of  art  was  all  the  more  remark- 
able because  of  the  fact  that  the  man  who 
drew  this  picture  was  illiterate  and  didn't  pos- 
sess even  the  semblance  of  a  common  school 
education.  In  fact,  he  had  never  been  able 


40 


Hope  Hampton  Established  a  Precedent  When  She  Paid  the  Author  a  Royalty 
in  Addition   to  a   Handsome  Price  for  "The   Maid  of  Molokai" 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


to  concentrate  long  enough  to  learn  how  to 
read  or  to  write  his  own  name.  And  yet. 
without  aid  of  any  kind  he  had  created  a 
work  of  art  that  would  arouse  the  envy  of  any 
artist. 

Interest  increased  in  the  Mexican  and  "The 
Cell  of  the  Christ,"  and  before  very  long  visi- 
tors came  from  miles  around  to  see  the  re- 
markable drawing.  Its  fame  spread,  and 
tourists  journeyed  hundreds  of  miles  to  pay 
humble  respect  to  the  man's  talent.  The 
jailer  succeeded  in  interesting  officials  of  the 
law  and  a  number  of  welfare  workers,  with  the 
result  that  a  concerted  move  was  made  to  ob- 
tain the  man's  release.  This  was  continued 
even  after  the  man  had  been  convicted  and 
sent  to  San  Quentin  to  serve  his  term.  The 
jailer  went  to  Governor  Stephens  and  ap- 
pealed to  him  to  use  his  influence  with  the 
parole  board  to  effect  the  man's  release  on 
probation.  The  Governor  listened  and  was 
impressed.  He  agreed  to  take  the  question  up 
with  the  board  at  its  next  meeting.  Later  the 
parole  board  paid  a  visit  to  the  San  Bernar- 
dino jail,  and  as  the  members  bowed  in  rev- 


41 


"How  I  Did  It" 


erence  before  the  masterpiece,  one  of  them 
said,  "The  man  that  did  this  should  be  free." 
They  realized  that  a  man  with  such  talent 
would  be  of  far  greater  use  out  in  the  world 
than  in  prison,  and  agreed  that  the  law  owed 
him  a  chance  to  display  his  talents  unham- 
pered by  the  seclusion  he  was  then  under- 
going. 

So  the  parole  board  reported  back  to  Gov- 
ernor Stephens,  recommending  a  pardon,  and 
the  Mexican  was  liberated. 

Upon  receiving  his  liberty  the  Mexican 
went  to  Los  Angeles  and  later  did  some  really 
good  work.  He  painted  a  remarkable  likeness 
of  Abraham  Lincoln  which  aroused  consider- 
able admiration,  and  for  a  time  attracted  a 
great  deal  of  attention. 

I  became  so  interested  in  this  remarkable 
story  that  I  decided  to  put  this  man  into  a 
screen  story.  So  I  wrote  a  photoplay  and 
called  it  "The  Great  Redeemer,"  which  fea- 
tured House  Peters  in  the  leading  role  and 
was  released  by  the  Metro  Company.  I  be- 
lieve this  story  is  one  of  the  best  I  have 
written.  It  reproduced  a  chapter  from  real 


42 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


life  and  was  so  strange  that  it  really  resembled 
fiction.  The  Mexican  heard  that  I  had  writ- 
ten a  story,  using  him  as  the  central  character, 
and  he  visited  the  studio  from  time  to  time 
while  the  picture  was  in  production  and  mani- 
fested great  interest  in  its  progress. 

The  crucifixion  used  in  the  photoplay  was 
painted  by  a  French  artist  and  he  spent  sev- 
eral weeks  working  on  the  canvas.  It  was 
about  six  by  four  feet  in  size  and  was  a  beau- 
tiful work  in  colors.  Two  priests  from  Arizona 
happened  to  visit  the  studio  one  day  and  they 
were  so  impressed  with  the  painting  that  they 
asked  Maurice  Tourneur,  the  producer,  if  he 
would  give  them  the  picture  when  he  was  fin- 
ished with  it.  He  gladly  consented,  and  the 
painting  used  in  that  photoplay  now  hangs  in 
a  little  church  somewhere  in  Arizona. 

"The  Great  Redeemer"  has  been  shown  in 
every  city,  town  and  hamlet  in  the  United 
States,  and  is  still  being  re-booked  by  exhibi- 
tors all  over  the  country.  One  theatre  in 
Long  Beach,  Gal.,  has  played  the  picture  six 
times.  In  addition  to  being  shown  in  moviag 


43 


How  I  Did  It" 


picture  theatres,  it  has  been  booked  by 
churches,  educational  and  uplift  societies. 

This  picture  cost  ninety-five  thousand  dol- 
lars to  make  and  its  producers  have  realized 
about  half  a  million  dollars  from  its  bookings. 

But  the  unfortunate  part  of  the  real  story 
is  the  fact  that  while  this  Mexican  inspired 
others,  and  no  doubt  helped  many  people  to 
lead  better  lives,  yet  he  seemed  to  have  been 
unable  to  help  himself.  For  a  few  months 
after  his  release  he  committed  a  bold  hold- 
up and  was  sent  back  to  prison.  However, 
though  he  seemed  to  be  bad,  I  am  indebted  to 
him  for  a  beautiful  inspiration  and  the  public 
perhaps  is  a  little  better  because  he  lived. 

The  screen,  press  and  pulpit  are  the  three 
great  factors  in  the  life  of  civilized  peoples. 
United,  they  could  make  or  break  a  nation. 
There  are  about  two  thousand  daily  news- 
papers printed  in  the  United  States.  There 
are  about  twenty  thousand  moving  picture 
theatres  and  approximately  two  hundred 
thousand  churches.  The  combined  readers  of 
these  newspapers  are  over  a  quarter  of  the 
total  population,  every  day.  The  churches 


44 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


reach  a  little  over  a  quarter  of  the  population 
once  a  week.  Over  five  thousand  churches  in 
the  United  States  are  equipped  with  moving 
picture  machines. 

Those  who  are  writing  for  the  screen  should 
remember  this  when  writing  their  stories  and 
not  overlook  the  fact  that,  if  the  story  has  a 
powerful  theme  and  one  which  will  improve 
the  morals  of  the  public,  they  have  a  large 
potential  field  in  the  churches  which  are  now 
showing  pictures,  aside  from  the  twenty 
thousand  theatres. 

In  reciting  these  experiences  I  trust  the 
reader  will  not  accuse  me  of  being  immodest 
or  vainglorious.  I  have  done  only  what 
thousands  of  others  can  do,  provided  they 
have  creative  ability;  an  analytical  and  syn- 
thetic mind.  I  have  tried  to  prove  that  we  are 
surrounded  with  ideas,  and  that  if  we  are  ob- 
serving and  receptive,  how  simple  it  is  to  find 
a  story.  Nothing  in  the  world  is  so  fascinat- 
ing or  dramatic  as  life  itself.  It  is  the  lives 
that  millions  of  us  are  living  that  furnish  the 
novelist,  playwright  and  photodramatist  with 
material  for  their  work.  If  some  terrible 


"How  I  Did  It 


catastrophe  should  sweep  every  individual, 
with  the  exception  of  one,  from  the  earth,  and 
that  one  individual  happened  to  he  a  writer, 
he  would  have  nothing  to  write  about.  He 
would  have  nothing  to  write  about  because 
there  would  be  no  civilized  life.  And  where 
there  is  no  civilized  life  there  is  no  drama, 
romance,  intrigue,  suspense  or  action.  There 
would  be  no  ideas.  But  as  long  as  we  have 
civilization  we  will  have  ideas,  and  if  we 
look  around  we  will  surely  find  them. 

Perhaps  by  this  time,  the  reader  has  con- 
cluded that  I  get  all  my  ideas  from  the  news- 
papers. Because  real  news,  published  facts, 
happened  to  have  supplied  me  with  some  of 
my  best  material  is  not  sufficient  to  warrant 
the  statement  that  all  my  stories  were  gleaned 
from  newspapers.  Some  of  them  have  been 
personal  experiences  and  others  have  been  the 
experiences  of  my  friends  and  acquaintances. 

We  are  not  all  of  the  same  mind,  and 
therefore  we  do  not  see  many  things  in  the 
same  light  that  others  do.  The  reader  might 
pick  up  the  morning  paper  and  discover  a 
story  which  would  so  interest  him  that  he 


46 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


would  become  inspired  to  write  a  story,  using 
that  particular  piece  of  news  as  his  basic 
theme.  Another  writer  might  read  the  same 
story  and  fail  to  become  enthused.  Writers 
secure  their  ideas  in  many  different  places. 
The  system  which  works  for  one  may  not  suc- 
ceed for  others.  It  depends  on  the  way  the 
brain  works.  We  all  have  different  likes  and 
dislikes  and  something  which  might  appeal  to 
one  might  not  interest  another.  Some  writers 
are  incessant  news  readers.  They  scan  every 
publication  which  relates  the  doings  of  the 
people  and  races  everywhere.  Situations 
strange,  odd  and  sometimes  erratic  are  found 
in  the  happenings  of  real  life.  The  profes- 
sional writer  is  able  to  recognize  the  appeal- 
ing idea  and  mould  it  into  something  which 
will  amuse  and  interest. 

Some  time  ago,  a  clipping  agency  was 
started  in  the  East  for  the  purpose  of  supply- 
ing writers  with  strange  and  unusual  happen- 
ings printed  in  the  columns  of  the  daily  news- 
papers throughout  the  country.  For  a  nomi- 
nal fee,  these  clippings  were  supplied  the  sub- 
scribers each  week.  But  the  agency  railed 


47 


"How  I  Did  It" 


through  lack  of  support.  It  discovered  that 
not  all  writers  turned  to  facts  for  fiction. 
Some  writers  can  read  every  publication  in  the 
world  without  getting  many  impressions. 

Some  writers  are  dreamers.  They  can  lie 
on  their  backs  in  quiet,  deserted  places  and 
have  perfectly  good  ideas  come  to  them.  For 
some  it  is  the  inspiration  of  the  ocean ;  others 
seek  the  seclusion  of  the  mountains,  while 
others  do  their  best  work  on  the  desert  or  in 
the  forest. 

The  matter  of  taking  advantage  of  happen- 
ings in  real  life  is  something  which  does  not 
always  work  out  for  the  beginner.  He  is 
usually  inclined  to  take  the  printed  situation 
too  literally  and  fails  to  dress  it  with  flights  of 
fancy  and  activity  that  are  demanded  by  pic- 
tures. Very  often,  the  resentful  aspirant  who 
declares  that  his  returned  story  happened  in 
real  life,  does  not  realize  that  true  occurences 
sometimes  violate  logic  to  a  great  degree. 

Then  there  is  the  writer  with  the  radio 
mind.  He  is  ever  on  the  alert,  and  his  hear- 
ing is  highly  sensitive,  and  attuned  to  catch 
phrases  or  sentences  as  they  waft  through  the 


48 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


air.  A  clever  line  or  pretty  phrase  is  suffi- 
cient to  inspire  a  corking  good  story. 

Other  writers  get  most  of  their  ideas  from 
mingling  with  crowds  and  watching  people. 
They  like  to  wander  along  the  streets  and  their 
eyes  are  trained  to  study  the  actions  and 
movements  of  people,  and  some  dramatic  in- 
cident witnessed  on  the  main  thoroughfare 
will  supply  the  spark  of  enthusiasm  and  they 
will  return  home  and  immediately  start  to 
work.  The  main  street  of  any  large  city  is 
filled  with  comedy  and  drama,  and  if  our  eyes 
are  keen  and  our  minds  receptive  we  won't 
have  much  difficulty  in  finding  good  material. 

To  know  a  story :  that  is  the  most  important 
part  of  writing.  The  majority  of  writers  never 
sit  down  before  their  typewriter  until  they 
have  something  in  mind — until  they  know 
what  they  are  going  to  do.  I  know  a  few 
who  make  it  a  rule  to  put  in  several  hours  a 
day  writing  something.  They  make  it  a  daily 
task  and  will  work  four  or  five  hours,  just  to 
keep  themselves  in  training,  even  if  they  tear 
everything  up  and  throw  it  away  when  they 
have  finished.  Very  often  these  writers  hit 


49 


"Hotu  /  Did  It 


upon  something  good,  with  the  aid  of  vibra- 
tions, and  turn  out  great  stuff.  It  is  true 
that  many  great  inspirations  have  come  in 
this  manner. 

Then  there  is  the  writer  who  spends  most 
of  his  time  traveling.  He  is  of  the  opinion 
that  a  change  is  necessary  and  an  incentive 
to  better  work.  A  change  is  always  good. 
Strange  countries,  with  different  atmosphere 
and  interesting  customs,  together  with  new 
faces,  will  inspire  the  writer  and  keep  him 
from  getting  rusty. 

One  day  during  the  year  1913,  I  was 
standing  before  the  Mosque  of  Ahmed,  in 
Constantinople.  It  was  just  at  sundown  and 
I  was  watching  the  moslems  as  they  entered 
the  Mosque  to  offer  their  evening  prayer  to 
Allah.  Something  about  that  throng  inter- 
ested me,  and  yet  for  some  time  I  was  unable 
to  discover  just  what  it  was.  Then  it  suddenly 
dawned  on  me.  In  all  that  crowd,  there  was 
not  one  hanum,  or  woman.  They  were  all 
men.  I  inquired  of  a  passing  Arab  the  reason 
for  this,  and  he  informed  me  that  Turkish 
women  were  not  permitted  to  enter  a  mosque 


so 


Mostly  About  Ideas 


except  once  a  year,  during  the  Feast  of  Ram- 
azan.  When  I  questioned  him  further,  he 
smiled  and  jokingly  informed  me  that  they 
didn't  know  how  to  pray. 

I  remembered  that  little  incident  and  vowed 
that  some  day  I  would  use  it  as  the  basis  of  a 
story.  Six  years  later  I  wrote  it  and  sold  it 
to  the  Universal  Film  Company.  It  was  called 
"The  Virgin  of  Stamboul"  and  Priscilla  Dean 
appeared  in  the  leading  role.  The  story  was 
written  around  a  girl  named  "Sari,"  whose 
soul  was  supposed  to  be  "as  filth  in  the  streets 
of  Stamboul."  She  overhears  an  Englishman 
tell  an  American  the  reason  a  Turkish  girl  is 
not  permitted  in  a  mosque.  Her  curiosity  is 
aroused  and  she  succeeds  in  getting  into  the 
mosque  for  the  purpose  of  learning  how  to 
pray.  What  she  sees  there  furnishes  enough 
plot  to  keep  the  story  moving  for  some  time. 

Nearly  every  situation  was  inspired  by  the 
customs  of  the  Turkish  people  and  I  was  thus 
aided  in  my  effort  to  put  some  tense  drama 


61 


How  I  Did  It" 


into  the  story.  My  discovery  that  there  were 
three  forms  of  marriage  ceremony  in  Turkey 
assisted  me  in  building  up  a  rather  interest- 
ing dramatic  situation. 


House  Peters  Will  Be  Remembered  for  His  Excellent  Portrayal  of  "Dan 
Mollov"   in   "The   Great   Redeemer" 


CHAPTER  III 

KNOW  YOUR  SUBJECT 

In  the  previous  chapter  we  discussed  at 
great  length  the  "idea,"  and  I  endeavored  to 
point  out  to  the  reader,  from  my  fund  of  per- 
sonal experience,  where  to  look  for  them  and 
how  to  recognize  them.  In  this  chapter  I  am 
going  to  try  and  show  you  the  value  of  know- 
ing your  subject. 

The  sale  of  an  idea  does  not  mean  anything 
so  far  as  the  future  is  concerned,  unless  the 
foundation  of  knowing  is  with  the  writer.  The 
aspiring  writer  should  know  his  or  her  sub- 
ject before  attempting  to  write  it. 

Do  not  write  of  countries  which  are  so 
strange  to  you  that  you  don't  know  whether 
Lloyd's  is  a  town  in  the  Austrian  Tyrol  or  a 
clam-shell  emporium.  Do  not  paint  a  won- 
derful Alaskan  background  for  a  South  Amer- 
ican crap  game.  Do  not  make  your  hero  a 
Russian  cossack,  when  your  knowledge  of  race 
is  confined  to  the  Pueblo  tribe  of  Indians. 


53 


How  I  Did  It 


Make  your  hero,  your  heroine  and  the  rest  of 
your  characters  those  with  whom  you  are  per- 
fectly familiar. 

If  you  live  in  New  York  City,  and  have 
never  been  west  of  Buffalo,  do  not  write  a 
story  about  Iceland.  If  you  have  never  been 
west  of  Maine,  do  not  attempt  to  paint  a 
picture  of  the  great  American  desert.  Re- 
member your  audience  is  intelligent  and 
doubtless  contains  many  nomads  who  have 
wandered  from  Greenland  to  Cape  Town. 

"When  fairly  educated  or  travelled  people 
co  to  see  the  productions  vauntingly  adver- 
tised, tli«7  are  amazed  and  disgusted  with  the 
gross  ignorance  shown  by  directors  and  the 
principals,"  says  Bessie  Agnes  Dwyer,  in  * 
recent  criticism. 

"For  instance:  In  the  'Call  of  the  Nortk 
no  less  a  person  than  Jack  Holt  appears  as 
lacking  in  either  ordinary  information  or  ordi- 
nary sense.  Everyone  knows  that  when  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company,  and  its  rivals,  operated 
in  the  frozen  North,  that  Durham  tobacco  had 
not  been  manufactured.  The  trappers  and 
factors  smoked  and  chewed  plug — when  they 


64 


Know  Your  Subject 


could  get  it.  But  this  very  young  elegante, 
very  much  infatuated  with  a  Gillette  shave,  a 
jersey  and  tight  breeches — in  which  he  would 
have  promptly  frozen  to  death  or  been  frost 
bitten,  in  the  regions  portrayed,  sits  casually 
on  tables  and  fallen  trees,  and  'rolls  his  own' 
from  a  Durham  tobacco  bag. 

"The  young  lady  in  the  case  flits  about  in 
the  icy  moonlight,  in  a  costume  calculated  to 
give  her  congestion  of  both  lungs  inside  of 
twenty  minutes.  The  rifles  used  are  Martinis. 
The  latest  type  of  self  cocking  pistols  are 
freely  displayed.  The  whole  thing  is  ridicu- 
lous, impossible  and  a  perfect  travesty  of  fact 
— and  easily  ascertained  facts. 

"In  'Fools  Paradise,'  leaving  to  one  side 
the  garishness  and  clumsiness  of  the  Mexican 
oil  camp  scenes — and  I  know  Mexico — when 
Burmah  is  invaded,  the  picture  does  violence 
to  the  most  sacred  instinct  of  the  human  mind 
— religion.  It  portrays  a  French  dancer  on 
a  throne  of  Buddha  wagging  her  head  and 
making  sensuous  passes  with  her  hands,  while 
Javanese  dancers,  in  Court  costume,  dance  be- 
fore her. 


55 


How  I  Did  It" 


"This  is  positively  scandalous  to  the  people 
of  the  East  and  any  woman,  white  or  other- 
wise, attempting  this  in  one  of  their  temples, 
would  be  torn  to  pieces.  We  will  pass  over 
the  crocodiles  and  the  incident  of  the  lady 
throwing  her  glove  into  their  den.  That  inci- 
dent is  doubtless  suggested  by  history  and  not 
bad — as  it  goes,  but  the  temple  scene  is  atro- 
cious and  worse — it  is  impossible. 

"We  Americans  spend  millions  to  Chris- 
tianize the  Orient,  and  permit  ourselves  to  be 
depicted  before  the  gaze  of  millions  of  Orient- 
als in  anything  but  desirable  way.  I  have 
often  wondered  why  the  Federation  of  Ameri- 
can Club  Women  did  not  investigate  and 
through  the  War  Department,  or  the  State 
Department,  curb  this  ever  growing  evil. 

"In  the  Orient,  I  have  seen  the  branding 
of  a  white  woman,  on  the  screen,  by  a  Japan- 
ese Prince.  The  entire  audience  sat  dumb- 
founded as  well  they  might.  I  have  seen  the 
awful  fights  of  gangsters,  the  housebreaking, 
safe-cracking,  woman  throttling  acts,  happily 
somewhat  barred,  by  public  demand,  in  our 
theatres.  In  such  wise,  and  merely  to  make 


56 


Dorothy  Dalton  Gave  One  of  the  Best  Performances  of  Her  Career,  as 
"Jeannette  Bouchette"  in  "Vive  la  France" 


Know  Your  Subject 


money,  do  these  movie  magnates  represent 
the  supposedly  dominant  and  superior  race, 
in  Japan,  China,  India,  the  Philippines,  Java, 
Ceylon — all  the  lands  beyond  the  Pacific. 

"Let  the  picture  people  censor  and  elimi- 
nate from  foreign  export,  the  libels  on  this 
country,  its  morals  and  its  manners,  they  have 
so  liberally  produced  and  exploited." 

The  foregoing  was  a  letter  which  appeared 
in  the  Los  Angeles  Times,  July  3rd,  1922, 
and  is  typical  of  the  criticisms  which  are  fre- 
quently made  of  moving  picture  productions. 
I  have  quoted  it  in  order  to  show  that  the 
average  moving  picture  patron  possesses  intel- 
lect. One  critic  recently  made  the  ridiculous 
statement  that  eighty  percent  of  moving  pic- 
ture audiences  are  composed  of  uneducated 
and  illiterate  people.  The  moving  picture 
appeals  to  the  highest  as  well  as  the  lowest 
form  of  intelligence,  and  because  of  this  fact 
it  is  enjoying  tremendous  popularity,  and  the 
producer  who  fails  to  take  this  into  considera- 
tion, and  believes  that  a  glaring  error  or  in- 
consistency will  go  unnoticed,  is  fooling  no 
one  but  himself. 


57 


How  I  Did  It 


I  do  not  know  Bessie  Agnes  Dwyer.  But 
I  was  interested  in  her  criticism,  for  she 
speaks  for  the  millions  of  moving  picture  fans 
and  is  a  living  denial  of  those  who  seem  to 
think  that  our  audiences  are  made  up  of 
stupid  and  ignorant  people.  The  mistakes 
she  pointed  out  were  most  inexcusable  and 
reveal  primarily  the  ignorance  of  the  writers 
and  their  subjects.  If  they  had  been  thor- 
oughly conversant  with  the  countries  they 
wrote  about,  there  would  not  have  been  such 
flagrant  errors  as  have  been  pointed  out  to  us. 
In  such  cases,  the  director  is  not  all  to  blame 
and  the  producer  is  only  partially  at  fault. 
The  writer,  alone,  is  responsible  for  such  mis- 
takes. The  producer  and  director  no  doubt 
believed  the  authors  of  these  particular  stories 
were  familiar  with  their  subjects  and  never 
questioned  the  small  details.  Anyone  who 
will  write  a  story  about  a  country  with  which 
he  is  not  familiar  is  indeed  doing  a  very 
daring  thing.  We  do  not  say  that  it  can't  be 
done.  It  has  been  done.  The  best  history 
of  the  French  Revolution  was  written  by  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Carlisle.  And  yet 


58 


Know  Your  Subject 


he  had  never  crossed  the  English  Channel. 
But  he  spent  years  in  writing  that  immortal 
work.  The  stories  criticized  by  our  friend 
were  probably  written  in  three  or  four  weeks. 

Know  your  subject.  This  is  one  of  the  best 
tips  I  can  give  to  the  aspiring  writer.  Don't 
write  about  anything,  unless  you  are  familiar 
with  it.  You  cannot  write  illuminatingly 
about  Alaska  unless  you've  been  there.  I 
would  never  have  attempted  to  write  a  story 
like  "The  Virgin  of  Stamboul"  if  I  hadn't 
visited  Constantinople. 

About  a  year  ago  I  decided  I  would  like  to 
write  a  story  using  the  great  northwest  as  a 
background.  So  I  packed  my  bag  and  jour- 
neyed twenty-five  hundred  miles  through  the 
north  country,  and  remained  away  four 
months.  About  three  years  ago  I  became  af- 
flicted with  a  desire  to  write  a  Hawaiian  story. 
So  I  bought  a  ticket  and  sailed  down  the 
Pacific  to  Honolulu,  where  I  remained  nine 
weeks.  Upon  my  return  I  wrote  a  story 
called  "The  Maid  of  Molokai." 

Now  the  Hawaiians  are  a  very  superstitious 
race.  They  have  many  legends,  some  of  them 


59 


"How  I  Did  It" 


weird  and  others  very  beautiful,  which  they 
are  very  willing  to  explain  to  the  visitor. 
There  is  one  I  remember  in  particular.  It 
was  told  to  me  by  some  of  the  natives  of 
Hilo.  Hilo  is  on  the  island  of  Hawaii,  and  is 
located  thirty  miles  from  Kilauea  crater.  They 
declare  that  when  the  volcano  is  on  the  verge 
of  an  eruption  the  fish  in  the  harbor  at  Hilo 
turn  red.  I  used  this  legend  to  good  advan- 
tage in  my  story,  as  a  great  deal  of  the  action 
took  place  on  the  island  of  Hawaii,  in  the  city 
of  Hilo  and  around  the  volcano.  My  story 
fell  into  the  hands  of  a  continuity  writer, 
whose  knowledge  of  the  world  was  limited  to 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  and  Los  Angeles,  with  the 
result  that  this  writer,  while  making  the  adap- 
tation struck  out  the  use  I  made  of  this  leg- 
end. When  I  learned  of  this,  I  immediately 
informed  her  that  I  had  not  written  about 
Hawaii  from  knowledge  I  had  gleaned  in  a 
New  York  flat,  but  had  spent  approximately 
five  thousand  dollars  for  the  purpose  of  get- 
ting local  color  and  that  I  knew  what  I  was 
writing  about.  That  work  was  distorted  and 
defaced  by  this  continuity  writer,  who,  despite 


60 


Know  Your  Subject 


her  limited  knowledge,  possessed  a  remark- 
able egotism  and  bombastic  arrogance,  and  in 
the  end  she"  completely  ruined  what  I  consid- 
ered to  be  one  of  my  best  stories. 

Many  times  in  the  past  the  author  has 
found  that  despite  his  experience,  gleaned 
from  traveling  and  coming  into  contact  with 
strange  and  extraordinary  adventures  in  var- 
ious remote  corners  of  the  earth,  he  has  found 
himself  completely  at  the  mercy  of  a  continu- 
ity writer  whose  limited  knowledge  about 
everything  in  general,  endangered  a  really 
meritorious  piece  of  work  over  which  a  great 
deal  of  time,  care  and  thought  has  been  spent. 

Know  your  subject.  Know  it  thoroughly, 
and  then  such  errors  as  Miss  Dwyer  has  point- 
ed out  will  be  avoided.  You  must  remember 
that  producers  and  directors  are  not  infallible, 
and  they  assume  when  they  receive  a  story 
from  a  writer  that  the  details  are  accurate. 
Don't  attempt  to  write  a  story  until  you  have 
made  an  exhaustive  study  of  your  subject. 
See  to  it  that  the  settings  are  accurate.  If 
you  were  writing  a  story  wherein  a  scene  of 
a  "city  room"  of  a  metropolitan  daily  is  re- 


How I  Did  It" 


quired,  you  wouldn't  have  the  floor  nicely 
swept,  the  desks  bared  and  the  "copy"  boys 
resembling  little  Fauntleroys.  You  would 
have  the  desks  and  floors  littered  with  news- 
papers and  copy  paper  and  the  boys  would 
be  hardened  youngsters  with  hair  dishevelled 
and  frowning  countenances.  The  City  Editor 
would  probably  be  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and 
would  be  smoking  either  a  pipe  or  cigar.  If 
you  have  never  worked  on  a  newspaper,  then 
before  you  wrote  that  scene  you  should  pay 
a  visit  to  a  newspaper  office  and  make  a  care- 
ful study  of  it  in  order  that  the  setting  you 
describe  will  be  correct.  Perhaps  the  director 
would  build  that  set  in  the  studio,  and  then 
he  would  rely  to  a  great  extent  on  your  de- 
scription. 

When  I  wrote  "The  Virgin  of  Stamboul" 
I  described  every  scene  and  setting  with  mi- 
nute detail;  the  types  of  characters  to  be 
found  on  the  streets  of  Stamboul  and  their 
manner  of  dress ;  the  shops  and  their  contents 
and  the  customs  of  the  people.  Perhaps  the 
director  would  not  be  familiar  with  that  coun- 
try and  would  rely  upon  my  description.  That 


62 


Know  Your  Subject 


script  was  in  150,000  words,  and  in  addition 
to  the  story,  every  piece  of  action  was  des- 
cribed and  the  movements  of  every  character 
in  the  story  were  told  in  detail.  In  addition 
to  this,  I  purchased  a  set  of  pictures  showing 
the  style  of  architecture  of  the  houses  which 
skirted  the  principal  streets.  Then  I  added 
a  statement  to  the  effect  that  I  knew  Stam- 
boul,  that  I  had  spent  some  time  there,  and 
would  vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  everything 
in  the  story.  The  result  was  that  Director 
Tod  Browning  followed  my  script  closely  and 
the  street  scenes  in  addition  to  the  interiors 
were  exactly  as  I  had  described  them.  Of 
course  this  meant  a  great  deal  of  labor  on  my 
part — labor  which,  to  the  non-initiated,  might 
seem  unnecessary — but  in  the  end  I  was  re- 
warded by  knowing  that  if  there  were  any 
inaccuracies  I  alone  was  to  blame.  I  spent 
three  months  writing  that  story. 

During  the  years  1911  to  1914  I  spent  all 
my  time  travelling  abroad,  and  I  confess  it 
has  stood  me  in  good  stead  since  then.  Knowl- 
edge gleaned  in  foreign  countries  will  make 
us  familiar  with  this  sort  of  stories  when  we 


63 


"How  I  Did  It" 


are  inspired,  and  we  will  be  cautious  about 
having  caravans  camped  beneath  towering 
palm  trees  on  the  Sahara.  The  Sahara  isn't 
partial  to  palm  trees,  and  the  few  to  be  found 
there  are  short  and  not  so  artistic  as  the  tall, 
graceful  ones  which  grow  in  California  and 
the  South  Seas. 

Everything  is  accepted  by  the  traveler  as 
being  new.  Of  course  it  isn't  new,  but  it  is 
new  to  him,  and  thus  he  becomes  inspired,  and 
sometimes  he  is  able  to  give  us  something 
which  seems  new,  even  though  it  is  as  old  as 
creation. 

In  the  past,  the  screen  author  has  not  been 
a  traveler,  but  has  been  content  to  glean  what 
he  thought  was  necessary  for  his  "atmo- 
sphere" from  books  of  reference.  But  the 
professional  photodramatist  of  today  is  not 
satisfied  to  do  that,  and  many  of  those  who 
are  creating  stories  for  the  screen  today  are 
men  and  women  who  have  traveled  exten- 
sively. Many  of  them  have  gone  abroad  dur- 
ing the  past  year  or  two,  and  some  of  them  are 
planning  to  make  annual  trips  to  Europe  for 
the  purpose  of  getting  material  for  their  work. 


64 


Bessie   Love 


Know   Your  Subject 


However,  I  do  not  think  it  is  necessary  for 
a  beginner  to  travel  in  search  of  new  ideas. 
Some  very  excellent  stories  are  written  every 
year  by  writers  who  have  not  wandered  far 
from  their  own  back-yard. 

One  critic  declared,  after  seeing  "The  New 
Moon"  that  it  was  evident  I  had  gleaned  my 
knowledge  of  Russia  from  weekly  periodicals 
and  newspapers.  I  took  the  trouble  to  inform 
that  critic  that  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  rep- 
resenting a  chain  of  American  newspapers 
abroad,  and  had  traveled  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Russia,  and  would  vouch  for  the 
accuracy  of  the  detail  in  my  story. 

So,  you  see,  even  though  we  have  had  the 
necessary  experience,  and  have  written  a  story 
using  a  background  which  is  familiar  to  us, 
we  don't  always  get  the  credit  for  our  effort. 
There  are  more  stories,  with  foreign  atmo- 
sphere, written  for  the  screen  than  there  are 
books,  plays  and  novels,  and  the  professional 
moving  picture  critic  should  spend  some  time 
abroad  so  that  he  will  be  able  to  intelligently 
criticise  stories  with  foreign  backgrounds. 


65 


CHAPTER  IV 

CONSTRUCTING  THE  STORY 

Successful  screen  writing  is  merely  develop- 
ing the  power  of  imagination.  The  better 
you  develop  it  the  better  your  story  will  be, 
and  the  more  money  you  will  receive  for  it. 
Do  not  permit  yourself  to  be  bored  by  doing 
the  same  thing  over  and  over  again.  If  you 
do,  then  there  is  no  pleasure  in  your  work. 
If  you  cannot  enjoy  your  work  then  you  will 
not  find  success.  Endeavor  to  make  each 
story  better  than  the  last  one.  Let  each  story 
you  write  be  a  supreme  effort  to  produce 
something  as  nearly  perfect  as  you  possibly 
can  make  it.  Imagination  and  concentration 
will  accomplish  great  things  for  you. 

The  collapse  of  a  building  is  seldom  due  to 
its  foundation.  The  cause  is  usually  attrib- 
uted to  poor  construction,  faulty  ironwork  or 
weak  walls.  It  is  so  with  a  story.  The  theme 
may  be  a  good  one,  and  worthy  of  sustaining 
a  big,  powerful  drama,  but  if  the  construc- 


Constructing  the  Story 


tion  is  weak,  incoherent  and  unconvincing, 
then  the  whole  story  collapses.  If  the  author 
uses  imagination  in  writing  the  story,  and  con- 
centrates on  each  scene,  each  situation,  and 
works  them  out  to  the  best  of  his  ability, 
there  need  be  little  worry  about  disposing  of 
the  completed  script. 

It  is  often  said  that  all  that  is  necessary  is 
an  idea.  My  experience  has  been  to  the  con- 
trary. A  producer  is  interested  in  any  good 
idea,  but  he  is  more  interested  in  the  way  the 
idea  is  developed.  The  theme  may  be  an  in- 
teresting one,  but  the  producer  is  more  con- 
cerned about  the  construction  of  the  story. 
The  idea  is  merely  the  basis  or  foundation. 

The  first  one  to  be  sold  on  a  story  is  the 
writer  himself.  First,  he  must  have  a  good 
theme.  There  must  be  a  good  reason  for  the 
story,  and  the  theme  is  the  reason.  With  that 
as  the  foundation,  work  must  then  be  started 
on  the  construction.  After  the  story  is  com- 
pleted the  author  should  read  it  carefully.  He 
should  put  himself  in  the  place  of  the  pro- 
ducer and  try  and  imagine  himself  the  pros- 
pective purchaser.  If  the  completed  manu- 


67 


"How  I  Did  It 


script  is  fool-proof,  and  is  really  a  big  and 
meritorious  piece  of  work,  it  will  be  sold.  If 
the  author  tries  to  make  his  story  "different," 
if  it  is.  based  on  a  good  theme,  with  plenty  of 
atmosphere,  tense  situations,  dramatic  sus- 
pense, sufficient  romance  to  flavor  it,  and  con- 
siderable mystery  and  intrigue,  all  of  which 
lead  up  to  a  strong  climax,  it  will  find  a  ready 
market. 

Do  not  inject  too  much  atmosphere.  Too 
much  atmosphere  interrupts  the  plot  and  in- 
terferes with  the  smoothness  of  the  story. 
Don't  clutter  up  the  script  with  a  lot  of  scenes 
and  things  which  have  no  direct  bearing  on 
the  plot  or  the  outcome  of  the  story.  These 
things  will  only  delay  the  action  and  cause 
the  picture  to  drag.  There  is  no  better  cure 
for  insomnia  than  a  story  that  drags.  Many 
good  stories  have  been  spoiled  because  the 
author  tarried  too  long  and  introduced  an 
over-abundance  of  atmosphere,  and  bits  of  de- 
tail, which  had  no  connection  with  the  ulti- 
mate climax. 

Recently  I  wrote  a  story  around  a  matador 
of  Spain,  entitled  "The  Siren  of  Seville." 


68 


\    V   - 


Eugene  O'Brien 


Constructing  the  Story 


The  colorful  background  offered  many  possi- 
bilities for  innumerable  expensive  sets.  The 
matador  is  a  very  picturesque  character;  a 
very  heroic  and  romantic  figure.  The  realiza- 
tion of  this,  together  with  the  interesting  cus- 
toms of  the  Spanish  people — especially  the 
Sevilanos — provided  a  wealth  of  material. 
But  it  was  necessary  to  ignore  everything 
which  could  not  be  conveniently  woven  into 
the  plot,  otherwise  the  progress  of  the  story 
would  t>e  retarded.  Every  scene  should  ad- 
vance the  plot.  Pretty  scenes  mean  nothing 
unless  they  are  used  as  a  background  for 
action.  Beautiful  shots  are  worthless  if  we 
are  sacrificing  interest  in  order  to  show  them. 
Nothing  should  be  introduced  unless  it  has  a 
real  important  connection  with  the  plot.  In 
a  story  with  foreign  atmosphere,  the  author 
must  necessarily  introduce  the  customs  of  the 
people,  but  he  should  never  stop  his  story  to 
do  it.  The  customs  should  play  an  important 
part  in  the  plot  of  the  story,  so  that  while  we 
are  interesting  and  amusing  our  audience,  we 
are  instructing  and  educating  them  as  well. 


69 


"How  I  Did  It" 


Take  the  audience  with  you.  Confuse  your 
characters,  and  lead  the  audience  to  believe  it 
is  being  taken  into  your  confidence.  But  sur- 
prise it  at  the  right  moment.  Permit  me  to 
modestly  refer  to  a  situation  in  "The  Virgin 
of  Stamboul."  Achmet  Hamid  returns  to  his 
harem  and  finds  Resha,  his  favorite  wife,  in 
the  arms  of  the  American,  Hector  Barren. 
She  locks  the  romantic  lover  in  a  closet. 
Hamid  enters  and  asks  her  for  the  key.  He 
then  goes  to  the  door  of  the  closet,  inserts  the 
key,  and  even  unlocks  the  door.  When  I 
reached  this  place  in  the  story  I  paused.  Thus 
far,  I  had  taken  the  audience  into  my  confi- 
dence. I  had  taken  it  far  enough.  Now  I  must 
add  some  suspense.  The  audience  would  con- 
clude that  Hamid  would  open  the  door,  permit 
Barron  to  come  out  and  then  thrash  him;  per- 
haps kill  him.  Well,  as  that  was  what  the 
audience  would  expect,  I  would  inject  the  ele- 
ment of  surprise.  I  would  surprise  the 
audience  by  surprising  Resha.  I  would  pre- 
vent Hamid  from  doing  the  very  thing  Resha 
believed  he  was  going  to  do.  Resha  would  be 
amazed.  But  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Resha.  I 


70 


Constructing  the  Story 


was  thinking  of  my  audience.  In  order  to 
amaze  my  audience  I  had  to  amaze  Resha. 
The  most  dignified  way  of  surprising  the 
audience  is  through  the  characters.  Never 
deliberately  fool  your  audience.  It  isn't  nice, 
and  your  audience  doesn't  like  it. 

Now  then,  I  knew  the  audience  would  have 
at  least  one  excuse  for  remaining  in  the  the- 
atre. The  cunning  Hamid  returned  the  key 
to  Resha,  and,  apparently  confessing  his 
jealousy,  expressed  a  desire  to  atone  for  his 
"fleeting  doubt,"  and  promised  to  bring  her  a 
gift,  "one  worthy  of  your  cleverness,  the  most 
costly  in  all  Stamboul."  Again,  the  audience 
would  have  an  excuse  for  not  going  home. 
Resha  wondered  what  that  gift  would  be.  So 
would  the  audience.  Then  I  stopped  work 
for  two  days.  I  too,  began  to  wonder.  What 
would  Hamid  bring  Resha  for  a  present?  I 
pondered  over  this  for  some  time.  I  must 
have  him  bring  her  something  she  would  least 
expect;  something  the  audience  would  least 
expect.  Finally,  it  came  to  me.  I  would  have 
Hamid  kill  Barron  and  bring  Resha  the  blood- 
stained dagger!  My  purpose  in  doing  this 


71 


"How  I  Did  It 


was  two-fold:  to  have  the  audience  wonder  as 
to  the  nature  of  the  punishment  Hamid  was  to 
mete  out  to  Barron,  and  the  nature  of  the  gift 
Resha  was  to  receive.  But,  greater  than  all 
else,  my  ohject  was  to  keep  the  audience  in 
the  theater  by  holding  its  attention  and  inter- 
est in  this  picture. 

It  is  often  true  that  during  the  writing  of 
a  story,  the  author  will  be  traveling  so  fast 
toward  the  climax  that  he  arrives  there  before 
he  should.  I  realized  this  during  the  writing 
of  the  story  just  mentioned.  I  brought  Sari 
into  the  house  where  Hamid  and  Pember- 
ton  were  fighting,  and  discovered  I  was  rush- 
ing toward  a  climax  which  threatened  to  be 
usual  and  commonplace ;  perhaps  not  in  keep- 
ing with  the  rest  of  the  story.  After  I  brought 
Sari  into  the  house,  and  she  had  heard  the 
fighting  going  on  upstairs,  and  had  seen  the 
plaster  fall,  I  stopped  work  for  another  day. 
As  far  as  I  could  see,  there  was  only  one  cli- 
max to  that  story:  Pemberton  would  come 
downstairs,  after  killing  Hamid,  take  Sari  in 
his  arms,  and  then  the  fade-out. 


72 


Guy  Bates  Post  and  H.  H.  Van  Loan 


Constructing  the  Story 


"Fine,"  I  argued  with  myself,  "but  why  not 
surprise  Sari  and  the  audience  just  once 
more?" 

Then  I  got  it.  The  audience  would  be 
looking  for  Pemberton  to  descend  the  stairs 
to  the  room  where  Sari  was  waiting.  All 
right;  but  I  would  delay  his  coming,  and 
meantime  would  bring  the  evil  Hamid  down 
first,  and  lead  them  to  believe  that  Pemberton 
had  been  killed.  Then  Hamid  would  drop 
dead  at  Sari's  feet,  as  he  was  aboul  to  take 
her  in  his  arms.  After  Sari  and  the  audience 
had  been  sufficiently  surprised,  I  would  bring 
Pemberton  down.  A  very  small  twist,  but  ex- 
hibitors all  over  the  country  told  me  this  was 
the  biggest  punch  in  the  story. 

My  only  purpose  in  citing  these  exper- 
iences is  to  show  how  much  more  we  can  get 
out  of  our  story  if  we  will  spend  time,  care 
and  thought  in  its  preparation.  This  will 
improve  the  construction.  It  is  not  advisable 
to  leave  a  situation  until  we  are  thoroughly 
convinced  we  have  handled  it  to  the  best  of 
our  ability.  My  motto,  when  I  come  to  a 
really  important  situation,  is  to  work  it  out 


73 


How  I  Did  It" 


exactly  in  the  way  the  audience  least  expects. 
The  way  this  is  done  is  by  rejecting  ideas 
until  you  find  the  right  one. 

In  writing  a  photoplay,  the  author  should 
always  keep  in  mind  that  the  actor  merely 
portrays  the  emotions  the  author  seeks  to 
arouse  in  the  audience,  and  unless  the  actor 
is  given  big  dramatic  situations  to  interpret, 
the  emotions  of  the  audience  will  remain  un- 
moved. The  author  knows  when  he  is  doing 
his  best,  for  his  own  emotions  are  the  first  to 
be  aroused,  and  if  he  doesn't  get  a  thrill  as 
he  writes  he  cannot  expect  the  producer  or 
the  audience  to  receive  something  he  has  not 
put  into  his  story.  Nobody  knows  better  than 
the  author  when  he  has  done  a  good  piece  of 
work.  And  when  he  has  finished  a  good 
story,  his  judgment  of  values  is  capable  of 
deciding  whether  the  story  will  be  sold.  He 
may  have  to  submit  it  to  several  producers 
before  it  is  accepted,  but  in  the  end  he  sees 
his  work  has  finally  been  appreciated. 

If  I  ever  sold  a  story  to  the  first  producer 
to  whom  I  submitted  it,  I  would  believe  the 
millennium  had  arrived.  "The  Virgin  of  Stam- 


74 


Constructing  the  Story 


boul,"  "The  New  Moon,"  "The  Great  Re- 
deemer,"  "Fightin'  Mad"  and  the  majority  of 
my  stories,  made  the  usual  rounds,  calling  on 
nearly  all  the  producers  before  they  were  ac- 
cepted. One  producer  said  "The  Virgin  of 
Stamboul"  was  a  costume  picture  and  would 
not  be  received  by  the  public.  It  was  not  a 
costume  picture.  A  costume  picture  is  a  pic- 
ture using  for  its  background  a  certain  period 
in  history.  "Deception"  was  a  costume  pic- 
ture; "Passion"  also  was  in  that  class,  and 
others  include  "The  Queen  of  Sheba,"  "Theo- 
dora," "Robin  Hood"  and  "Nero."  "The 
Virgin  of  Stamboul"  was  a  story  of  Turkey 
and  Stamboul  as  they  are  today,  and  therefore 
could  not  possibly  be  a  costume  picture.  It 
is  true  that  costume  pictures  have  never  made 
much  money.  This  is  because  the  people  of 
today  are  not  particularly  interested  in  the 
events  of  yesterday.  The  present  and  the 
future  arouses  our  interest,  but  we  cannot  be- 
come enthused  over  the  ages  that  have  passed 
and  its  people  of  whom  we  know  so  little. 
I  would  not  advise  a  beginner  to  write  a 
costume  story;  in  fact,  I  wouldn't  suggest  it 


76 


"flow  /  Did  It" 


to  anyone.     They  are  really  a  drug  on  the 
scenario  market. 

I  am  in  favor  of  the  type  of  story  which 
starts  right  out  with  mystery  and  suspense, 
and  which  holds  the  interest  of  the  audience 
until  the  end.  For  this  reason,  I  like  to  write 
crook  melodramas.  There's  lots  of  fun  in 
writing  stories  of  this  nature.  I  find  enjoy- 
ment in  creating  them.  I  have  often  started 
a  story  of  this  sort  and  didn't  have  the  slight- 
est idea  where  I  was  going  with  the  plot  or 
how  all  the  mystery  was  going  to  be  smoothed 
out  in  the  end.  That's  where  the  fun  came 
in.  An  author,  if  he  takes  his  work  seriously, 
gets  more  enjoyment  out  of  a  story  than  any- 
one else. 


76 


CHAPTER  V 
SUSPENSE 

One  of  the  most  important  things  to  re- 
member if  you  are  attempting  to  write  photo- 
plays, is  the  interest  of  the  audience.  In 
order  to  create  interest  that  is  sustained 
throughout  the  entire  story,  you  must  have  a 
well-founded  plot.  It  must  be  a  plot  that  de- 
mands action,  suspense,  drama,  tense  situa- 
tions and  romance.  Take  your  audience  into 
your  confidence,  to  a  certain  extent,  but  do 
not  disclose  your  climax  until  you  get  there. 
You  can  confuse  your  actors  all  you  like,  and 
mislead  them  as  much  as  you  choose,  for  in 
so  doing  you  will  be  amusing  and  interesting 
your  audience.  But,  it  is  a  good  plan  to  give 
your  story  a  different  twist  at  the  finish.  This 
acts  as  a  surprise.  People  don't  object  to 
being  surprised,  but  they  don't  like  to  be 
fooled.  A  story  with  a  different  twist  at  the 
end  will  be  well  liked  and  the  fans  will  go  out 
and  talk  about  it.  Talk  is  largely  responsible 
for  the  success  of  anything. 


77 


"How  I  Did  It" 


Probably  those  who  saw  "The  Wonderful 
Chance,"  with  Eugene  O'Brien,  did  not  guess 
how  that  story  was  going  to  end.  I  intended 
that  they  shouldn't  guess  it,  and  those  who 
saw  the  picture  know  whether  I  succeeded  in 
keeping  the  outcome  a  secret  until  the  very 
end.  In  fact  I  will  admit  that  I  didn't  know 
myself  how  that  story  was  going  to  end  until 
I  had  almost  completed  it.  That's  where  the 
fun  often  comes  in  for  the  writer.  To  live 
with  a  set  of  characters  for  weeks  at  a  time 
until  they  seem  to  be  living,  breathing  human 
beings,  is  an  enjoyment  few  have  experienced 
unless  they  have  written  a  story.  But  to  see 
those  characters  come  to  life  before  your  eyes, 
and  realize  that  you  created  them,  and  that 
they  are  doing  the  things  you  prescribed  for 
them,  gives  the  author  considerable  pleasure; 
a  pleasure  indescribable  and  appreciated  only 
by  those  who  have  experienced  it. 

"The  Wonderful  Chance"  was  a  story 
based  on  actual  facts.  The  entire  first  and 
second  reels  were  a  picturization  of  an  inci- 
dent which  transpired  in  New  York  City  a  few 
years  ago  and  is  a  part  of  the  police  record. 


78 


Suspense 

The  bird-cage  incident  actually  happened,  and 
the  sentimental  burglar  who  released  the 
canary  was  arrested  on  suspicion  by  Inspector 
Faurot,  Chief  of  the  Detective  Bureau.  The 
criminal  maintained  he  was  innocent,  and 
only  confessed  when,  as  he  was  being  put 
through  the  "third  degree,"  the  Inspector 
suddenly  hurled  at  him  the  question,  "Why'n 
Hell  did  you  let  that  bird  out  of  the  cage?" 
The  man,  caught  off  his  guard,  registered 
guilt.  He  realized  the  game  was  up  and 
confessed.  The  criminal  had  left  no  clue, 
apparently,  but  an  empty  bird-cage,  and  it 
was  due  to  the  marvelous  deduction  of  In- 
spector Faurot  that  the  man  was  arrested  and 
later  sent  back  to  Sing  Sing. 

Out  of  a  list  of  thirty-six  convicts  released 
from  Sing  Sing  three  days  before  a  certain 
burglary  was  committed  in  Brooklyn,  the 
Inspector  picked  out  the  man  he  believed 
capable  of  possessing  sentiment  enough  to 
release  an  imprisoned  bird  from  a  cage  in  a 
home  the  man  had  visited  and  burglarized. 
The  deduction  was  perfect  and  one  of  the 
finest  pieces  of  detective  work  on  record. 


79 


"How  I  Did  It" 


The  bird-cage  incident  inspired  "The  Won- 
derful chance."  It  was  the  motive,  premise 
or  theme,  and  the  scene  wherein  the  burglar 
opened  the  cage  and  gave  the  bird  its  freedom 
was  the  best  situation  in  the  story.  It  was 
the  best  because  it  was  the  truth,  and  was 
stranger  than  fiction.  Of  course  in  the  story 
it  was  not  advisable  to  send  our  hero,  "Swag- 
ger Barlow,"  back  to  prison.  That  would 
have  meant  a  repetition  of  plot.  Therefore 
the  hero  was  made  to  reform.  Then  the 
next  step  was  to  put  obstacles  in  his  path  and 
surround  him  with  temptations  in  order  to 
make  the  struggle  between  the  good  and  evil 
forces.  "Swagger  Barlow"  was  the  type  of 
man  who,  through  environment  and  circum- 
stances over  which  he  had  no  control,  became 
a  law-breaker.  He  was  bad.  But  he  didn't 
want  to  be  bad;  he  wanted  to  be  good.  He 
wanted  to  be  a  credit  to  society.  He  knew  he 
could  be  a  gentleman  if  opportunity  would 
only  give  him  a  chance.  His  desire  had  al- 
ways been  to  move  in  the  best  circles;  to  be 
respected  and  admired  by  the  better  class. 
All  his  life  he  had  been  waiting  for  the 


80 


Tom  Mix   Appeared   in   "The  Speed   Maniac"   and  "Three   Gold   Coins' 


Suspense 

wonderful  chance  to  be  a  gentleman.  Finally 
the  opportunity  came,  and  it  came  as  it 
usually  does,  when  it  is  least  expected.  Like 
many  other  young  men,  "Swagger  Barlow" 
recognized  it  when  it  came  and  grasped  it. 
He  could  be  a  gentleman.  He  would  prove 
it.  He  did,  and  he  received  a  just  reward. 

Every  story  should  have  a  moral.  "The 
Wonderful  Chance"  had  one.  It  pointed  out 
the  necessity  for  our  recognizing  opportunity 
— the  wonderful  chance — when  it  comes  to 
us.  It  may  be  thrust  upon  us,  just  as  it  was 
on  "Swagger  Barlow,"  but  the  main  thing  is 
to  grasp  it. 

Perhaps  those  who  saw  this  picture  went 
home  and  talked  about  it.  Supposing  that 
they  did,  what  incident  or  situation  remained 
stamped  indelibly  on  their  minds  ?  The  bird- 
cage incident.  It  was  "different."  Although 
it  may  have  seemed  like  fiction,  it  was  fact.  I 
desired  to  deliver  my  message  through  that 
particular  incident.  The  finer  qualities  in  the 
soul  of  "Swagger  Barlow,"  which  made  him 
dislike  seeing  anything  caged  up,  after  the 
long  years  he  had  spent  in  prison,  was  a  beau- 


How  I  Did  It" 


tiful  sentiment.  I  do  not  take  the  credit  for 
it  and  it  was  all  the  more  beautiful  because 
it  was  lifted  from  a  chapter  of  life  and  was 
something  that  absolutely  happened.  It  was 
my  reason  for  writing  the  story. 

Give  your  audience  something  to  remem- 
ber; something  they  will  think  about  and  talk 
about,  after  leaving  the  theatre,  and  your  story 
will  be  a  success.  If  you  give  them  only  one 
incident  which  will  remain  in  their  memory, 
your  labor  has  not  then  been  in  vain.  If 
they  forget  your  story  the  next  day,  then  you 
have  no  reason,  or  right,  to  be  proud  of  your 
work. 

Don't  preach  any  doctrines,  and  refrain 
from  making  your  story  appear  as  propaganda. 
People  go  to  the  churches  when  they  want  ser- 
mons, and  attend  lectures  when  they  wish  to 
fill  up  on  any  particular  subject.  Give  them 
thrilling  melodrama,  and  if  you  wish  to  con- 
vey a  good  thought  or  show  the  results  of  a 
kindly  deed,  drop  it  into  your  plot.  But 
don't  feature  it,  or  gloat  over  it  through  the 
entire  story.  Your  audience  is  intelligent. 
The  man  who  recently  stated  that  the  average 


Suspense 

picture  audience  is  composed  of  people  who 
have  the  mind  and  intellect  of  a  fourteen- 
year-old  should  himself  be  wearing  swaddling 
clothes.  The  most  brilliant  minds  on  earth 
are  regular  attendants  at  moving  picture 
theatres  because  it  is  the  greatest  source  of 
entertainment,  amusement  and  instruction,  all 
combined  into  one,  that  the  world  has  ever 
known.  Your  audience  is  intelligent,  and  if 
you  want  to  slip  it  a  little  message,  it  will  get 
it  without  any  unnecessary  effort  on  your  part. 
If  you  have  only  one  scene  in  your  story 
that  will  arouse  discussion  and  commenda- 
tion, your  story  is  a  success.  People  will  go 
out  and  talk  about  that  one  scene.  Try  and 
put  a  message  in  every  story  you  write.  See 
that  it  has  a  moral  in  it.  Avoid  sordid  things. 
Make  them  laugh  a  little  and  cry  a  little,  but 
send  them  away  feeling  good,  and  if  pos- 
sible, in  better  spirits  than  when  they  en- 
tered. Make  your  heroes  real,  manly  men, 
and  don't  let  them  do  absurd  things.  Keep 
your  heroines  sweet  and  above  adverse  criti- 
cism. Try  to  show  the  beautiful  things  there 
are  in  the  world,  and  don't  continually  depict 


83 


/  Did  It" 


the  unpleasantness  about  us.  Don't  make 
your  heroine  a  poor  stenographer  who  falls 
into  the  evil  arms  of  her  employer.  Other 
girls  in  other  walks  of  life  are  just  as  suscep- 
tible to  temptation  and  stub  their  toes  just  as 
easily.  Don't  always  pick  on  the  stenographer. 
Lots  of  them  are  good  and  not  all  of  them  are 
poor. 

Waste  no  superfluous  words.  The  main 
thing  to  bear  in  mind  is,  first,  to  establish  a 
reason  for  your  story,  and  then  start  for  the 
climax.  Perhaps  the  best  definition  of  any 
story  is  a  premise  and  a  chase.  It  is  better  to 
limit  the  number  of  characters  to  as  few  as 
possible.  Too  many  principals  confuse  the 
audience  and  tend  to  complicate  matters  and 
involve  the  plot.  This  results  in  the  audience 
mixing  labor  with  its  amusement.  Those  who 
go  to  the  theatre  are  seeking  relaxation  from 
personal  or  business  cares  and  they  want  to  be 
amused  and  interested  without  any  great 
mental  effort.  Too  many  leading  characters 
make  it  hard  for  the  audience  to  follow  the 
story,  and  subtract  instead  of  adding  to  the 
interest. 


William    Desmond   Made   a   Phenomenal    Hit   in   "Fightin"   Mad" 


Suspense 

The  most  important  element  in  a  photoplay 
is  suspense.  A  story  that  has  plenty  of  thrill- 
ing suspense  is  sure  to  be  a  success.  Every 
successful  photoplay  has  it.  Who  can  forget 
that  remarkable  scene  in  "The  Miracle  Man," 
when  that  little  youngster,  who  had  been 
physically  twisted  and  distorted  since  birth, 
hesitated  as  he  gazed  with  eyes  filled  with  faith 
towards  "the  miracle  man."  There  was  sus- 
pense. The  audience  sat  breathless  as  it 
wondered  what  was  going  to  happen  next.  In 
order  to  prolong  that  suspense,  Director 
Tucker  cut  from  the  boy  to  Thomas  Meighan, 
Betty  Compson  and  Joseph  Bowling.  Both 
Betty  Compson  and  Meighan  stood  motionless 
as  they  stared  toward  the  boy.  The  situation 
was  worked  up  to  such  a  height  that  the 
audience  by  this  time  was  experiencing  every 
emotion  reflected  by  the  actors,  and,  when  the 
boy  dropped  his  crutches  and  started  stumb- 
ling unaided  up  the  path  toward  Joseph  Dow- 
ling,  it  was  the  culmination  of  a  suspense 
never  before  equalled  on  the  screen.  That 
scene,  alone,  was  sufficient  to  make  that  pic- 
ture a  success. 


86 


"How  I  Did  It" 


In  that  great  Thomas  H.  Ince  production, 
"Behind  the  Door,"  there  was  some  tremen- 
dous suspense.  The  commander  of  a  German 
submarine  seizes  the  wife  of  the  captain  of  a 
merchant  ship  and  submerges  with  her  while 
her  husband  is  powerless  to  interfere.  He 
knows  what  her  fate  will  be,  and  as  the  grin- 
ning face  of  the  commander  appears  at  a  port- 
hole, the  captain  shakes  his  fist  at  him  and 
vows  that  he  will  find  him  some  day,  and  when 
he  does,  he  will  skin  him  alive! 

Months  later,  the  merchant  ship  is  at- 
tacked by  a  submarine  and  she  fights  back 
and  sends  the  evil  craft  to  the  bottom.  There 
is  one  survivor.  That  survivor  is  the  man 
who  stole  the  captain's  wife.  From  the  mo- 
ment the  German  commander  is  brought 
aboard  the  ship,  until  the  last  scene  in  the  pic- 
ture, the  entire  sequence  is  filled  with  sus- 
pense. It  was  thrilling,  and  the  audience  sat 
there  tense  and  speechless,  enjoying  every 
foot  of  it,  and  never  relaxed  until  the  last 
scene  in  the  picture  was  reached.  The  popu- 
larity of  "Behind  the  Door"  was  due  to  that 
two  reels  of  suspense. 


86 


Suspense 

Both  of  these  stories  were  written  by 
authors  who  know  the  value  of  suspense. 
Frank  L.  Packard  handled  it  like  a  master  in 
"The  Miracle  Man,"  and  the  same  can  be  said 
of  Gouverneur  Morris  and  "Behind  the  Door." 
The  directors  and  casts  deserve  great  praise 
for  the  way  in  which  they  interpreted  their 
roles,  but  the  stories  were  fool-proof.  A  fool- 
proof story  is  bound  to  bring  forth  the  best  ef- 
forts of  a  director  and  his  actors  because  they 
are  inspired  to  do  their  best. 

Who  can  forget  the  masterful  way  in  which 
Griffith  handled  suspense  in  "Orphans  of  the 
Storm?"  He  tore  the  blind  Louise  from  her 
sister,  Henriette,  and  then  took  all  the  time  he 
desired  in  bringing  them  together  again.  And 
all  this  time  he  was  working  on  the  emotions 
of  his  audience  to  such  an  extent  that  when 
the  scene  is  reached  where  Henriette  sees 
Louise  from  the  balcony  and  yet  is  unable  to 
reach  her,  the  patron  is  not  occupying  one- 
half  of  the  seat  which  he  paid  for  when  he  en- 
tered. It's  hard  to  equal  that  sort  of  sus- 
pense, and  it's  always  sure-fire.  But  it's 
nothing  more  than  every-day,  dyed-in-the- 


87 


How  I  Did  It" 


wool,  blown-in-the-bottle  melodrama.  But 
Griffith  is  a  master  at  it.  He  knows  the  value 
of  suspense  and  he  always  gives  it  to  us.  He 
gave  us  a  lot  of  it  in  "Way  Down  East." 
There,  it  was  the  famous  ice  scene,  when  Lil- 
lian Gish  is  floating  down  the  river  on  a  cake 
of  ice  and  Barthelmess  is  trying  to  reach  her. 
He  prolonged  that  suspense  until  the  girl  gets 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  falls,  and  by  that  time 
the  spectator  is  almost  a  nervous  wreck.  But 
the  audience  loves  it.  The  public  loves  to  be 
thrilled.  That's  why  there's  always  a  crowd 
around  an  accident  or  an  arrest.  That's  why 
the  newspapers  devote  considerable  space  to 
deeds  of  daring.  We  love  to  be  thrilled,  and 
the  writer  who  can  thrill  his  audience  by  giv- 
ing it  excellent  suspense  is  sure  to  find  his 
work  in  great  demand. 


88 


Guy  Price,   Dramatic  Editor  of  the  Los  Angeles  Herald,   and  "Real   Pal' 

of   the   Author 


CHAPTER  VI 

PERSISTENCY 

The  secret  of  success  in  any  walk  of  life  is 
merely  to  know  what  the  public  wants,  and 
then  being  able  to  serve  it  in  the  most  attrac- 
tive manner.  For  those  who  can  do  this,  and 
who  manifest  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking 
pains,  there  is  great  reward.  The  world  refers 
to  such  persons  as  geniuses.  The  first  one  to 
discover  your  worth,  your  possibilities,  is  you. 
If  you  honestly  and  sincerely  believe  that  you 
are  capable  of  writing  photoplays  you  will  win 
out.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the  struggle  to 
succeed  is  difficult  and  usually  demands  con- 
siderable sacrificing  and  suffering,  but  this  is 
because  our  whole  system  of  things  is  wrong. 
But  as  it  is  too  late  now  to  change  that  sys- 
tem, we  will  probably  have  to  be  contented 
with  it. 

Study  your  public  and  find  out  what  it 
wants.  Also  find  out  what  it  doesn't  want. 
While  you're  doing  this,  you  must  aim  to 


89 


How  I  Did  It" 


please  the  women.  A  story  that  doesn't  inter- 
est the  feminine  portion  of  your  audience  is 
not  a  success.  If  the  women  endorse  a  pic- 
ture it  is  certain  to  be  a  success.  Wives  in- 
form their  husbands  of  their  likes  and  dis- 
likes. The  young  man  asks  his  sweetheart 
which  one  of  the  current  productions  she 
would  like  to  see.  He  goes  where  she  wants 
to  go.  Then,  too,  you  must  remember  that 
women  always  outnumber  the  men  in  any 
amusement  place.  The  success  of  Cecil  B. 
De  Mille's  pictures  is  due  to  the  fact  that  he 
appeals  to  the  women  with  his  productions. 
The  majority  of  his  productions  feature  the 
feminine  sex,  and  in  addition  to  this  he 
usually  dresses  his  pictures  well.  He  provides 
the  feminine  stars  with  fashionable  clothes 
and  surrounds  them  with  great  luxuries.  Nat- 
urally, this  all  interests  the  women,  even 
though  such  an  atmosphere  is  entirely  beyond 
their  expectations. 

There  has  never  been  a  time  when  the  pro- 
ducers were  so  eager  to  get  good  screen  sto- 
ries, and  there  has  never  been  such  a  theatre- 
going  public  as  there  is  today. 


90 


Persistency 

"The  era  of  good  films  is  arriving,"  says 
Thomas  H.  Ince.  "The  most  important  of 
all  factors  having  to  do  with  the  continued 
popularity  of  the  screen  is  new  story  material 
for  pictures,  stories  of  sufficient  interest  and 
basic  theme  to  hold  the  attention  of  American 
and  European  audiences. 

"There  has  been  much  talk  during  the  last 
year  of  motion  pictures  having  lost  the  good 
will  of  the  American  public  and  of  American 
pictures  losing  their  great  international  fol- 
lowing. 

"After  a  five  months'  sojourn  in  New  York, 
during  which  I  came  into  contact  with  most 
of  the  leaders  of  every  branch  of  the  industry 
and  having  every  opportunity  to  study  every 
phase  of  the  picture  screen  away  from  my 
studios,  I  am  convinced  that  pictures,  partic- 
ularly the  splendid  American  productions  of 
the  finished  type,  are  just  coming  into  their 
greatest  day. 

"I  intend  to  devote  more  attention  than 
ever  before  to  the  story  foundation  for  it  has 
been  my  observation  that  the  picture-going 


91 


"How  I  Did  It" 


millions  have  never  been  indifferent  toward  a 
good  screen  story." 

The  trouble  in  the  past  has  been,  to  a  great 
extent,  a  lack  of  sufficiently  good  stories.  We 
have  been  conscious  of  a  pronounced  lack  of 
truth,  or  originality  and  spontaneous  appeal 
in  the  story.  There  has  been  a  continued 
foisting  upon  audiences  of  threadbare  and  ill- 
chosen  plots.  Also  poor  stories,  and  the  dis- 
tortion of  both  plot  and  characters,  and  even 
titles,  when  a  picture  was  supposedly  made 
from  some  well-known  book  or  play.  The 
public  is  tired  of  sex  pictures,  western  melo- 
dramas and  pictures  which  are  imitations  of 
"hits."  As  soon  as  one  particular  type  of 
story  has  made  a  "hit,"  a  group  of  the  smaller 
producers  have  been  in  the  habit  of  sending 
out  a  hurry  call  for  a  similar  one.  Recently 
a  picture  based  on  a  rather  sensational  hymn 
was  favorably  received  in  certain  sections  of 
the  country,  and  immediately  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  excitement,  on  the  part  of  some 
of  the  independent  producers  to  make  more 
like  it.  I  submitted  a  Spanish  story  to  a  pro- 
ducer about  this  time  and  he  handed  it  back 


92 


Persistency 


to  me  with  the  remark:  "Go  and  write  me  a 
story  like  'Where  is  my  Wandering  Arbutus 
Tonight?'  Within  a  week,  I  received  three 
requests  to  write  "wandering"  stories.  I 
havent'  written  one  of  them  yet. 

The  public  wants  simple,  wholesome,  hu- 
man stories,  with  sincere  men,  faithful  women, 
and  if  the  public  ever  wearies  of  motion  pic- 
tures it  will  be  for  the  reason  that  they  haven't 
appealed  to  the  best  that  is  in  it. 

Some  people  think  that  the  moving  picture 
has  injured  the  legitimate  stage.  Those  who 
know  will  deny  that.  There  is  no  clash  at 
all,  and  each  will  continue  to  attract  its 
audiences.  When  the  pictures  give  us  stories 
that  are  more  consistent,  truer  reflections  of 
human  life,  human  conflict,  human  tears  and 
human  smiles,  rather  than  sensational  and 
indelicate  themes,  the  moving  picture  will  be 
more  popular  than  the  stage. 

The  root  of  the  whole  matter  lies  in  its 
youth.  It  has  left  its  infancy  and  is  develop- 
ing into  a  big,  ruddy  youngster.  Youth  is 
susceptible,  and  the  public  is  to  blame  for 
not  asking  for  something  better  than  it  has 


"How  I  Did  It" 


had.  If  some  of  the  pictures  have  been  sala- 
cious, it  has  been  because  the  public  wanted 
it.  The  producer  plays  up  to  the  public  de- 
mand, and  the  public  gets  what  it  wants.  If 
the  public  manifested  enough  interest  in  the 
Bible,  and  desired  to  see  it  on  the  screen — all 
of  it,  from  Genesis  to  Revelation — the  pro- 
ducer would  gladly  satisfy  that  demand. 

Some  people  have  been  of  the  opinion  that 
the  progress  of  the  moving  picture  is  limited 
and  that  it  hasn't  much  farther  to  go.  It  has 
made  tremendous  strides;  it  is  here  to  stay, 
and  it  will  make  a  very  noticeable  advance- 
ment in  the  future.  Its  progress  will  amaze 
the  public,  because  the  producer,  the  author 
and  the  director  are  determined  that  it  shall 
improve. 

Let  us  look  into  the  future  and  prophesy 
a  little.  In  the  first  place,  there  are  going  to 
be  fewer  pictures.  But  they  are  going  to  be 
bigger  and  better,  because  the  author  is  going 
to  spend  more  time  on  his  stories.  Those 
authors  who  have  been  writing  ten  or  fifteen 
stories  a  year  will  not  write  more  than  three 
or  four  in  the  future.  They  will  be  better 


94 


Persistency 

and  bigger  stories,  and  the  producer  is  going 
to  spend  more  time  in  making  them  into  pic- 
tures. There  will  be  a  greater  expenditure 
of  money  on  each  production.  Thus,  when 
the  producer  sells  his  picture  he  will  get  more 
money  for  it.  The  exhibitor  will  take  these 
pictures  and  run  them  for  an  indefinite  period 
in  his  theatre,  and  will  charge  the  public  more 
money  for  seeing  them.  The  public  will  quite 
willingly  pay  the  increased  admission.  The 
public  is  always  willing  to  pay  a  good  price 
for  quality.  The  pictures  will  be  handled 
very  much  like  legitimate  plays  and  will  be 
booked  for  a  run  in  each  city.  The  exhibitor 
will  keep  the  picture  in  his  theatre  until  the 
community  has  seen  it.  The  pictures  will 
probably  be  shown  in  only  one  theatre  in  each 
city,  and  this  will  enhance  their  value  to  the 
exhibitor,  from  a  box-office  viewpoint. 

The  name  of  the  author  will  be  featured 
and  he  will  receive  the  credit  for  the  success  or 
failure  of  the  production.  In  the  past,  he  has 
usually  received  full  credit  only  when  the 
picture  was  a  failure.  The  success  or  failure 
of  future  productions  is  going  to  be  solely  up 


95 


How  I  Did  It" 


to  the  author,  and  he  will  not  be  able  to  es- 
tablish a  reasonable  excuse  if  it  fails.  If  his 
stories  are  good  his  name  will  be  a  box-office 
attraction  and  the  public  will  know  him  by  his 
work. 

Certain  stars  will  always  enjoy  a  consider- 
able amount  of  popularity.  But  the  star's  era 
has  passed,  and  if  the  author  makes  good  the 
star  will  never  return  to  those  glorious  days  of 
the  past  when  his  name  outside  of  a  theatre 
was  sufficient  to  make  the  public  flock  to  that 
particular  house.  In  the  future  he  will 
merely  be  included  in  the  cast  of  characters 
and  will  receive  the  praise  he  deserves  for  his 
interpretation  of  a  particular  role. 

Grim  persistency  is  responsible  for  most  of 
the  success  in  this  world,  and  if  you  haven't 
got  that  then  you  had  better  be  satisfied  to  re- 
main in  the  procession  and  trot  along  with  the 
parade.  If  you  have  got  an  indomitable  will 
power  to  make  good,  then  some  day  you'll  find 
yourself  up  there  with  the  drum  major,  lead- 
ing the  procession.  In  fact,  you'll  be  ahead 
of  the  drum  major. 


96 


Warner  Oland  Plavrd  the  Male  Lead  in  the  Pathe  Serial,  "The  Third  Eye" 


Persistency 

You  can't  write  a  story  overnight.  If 
you  do  you  won't  sell  it,  because  you  couldn't 
possibly  give  it  the  thought  and  care  it  is 
rightfully  entitled  to,  in  that  length  of  time. 
If  you  write  for  one  solid  year  and  never  sell  a 
line,  don't  be  discouraged.  You  are  receiving 
a  valuable  training,  during  the  meantime,  and 
after  you've  broken  the  ice  and  sold  your  first 
story,  you  will  look  back  on  those  days — per- 
haps days  of  discouragement — as  the  days  of 
your  apprenticeship.  If  it's  worth  an  attempt, 
it's  worth  patience. 

I  wrote  for  nearly  two  years  before  I  sold 
my  first  story.  And  like  many  others,  it 
was  quite  by  accident  that  I  sold  it.  For  the 
benefit  of  those  who  are  inclined  to  become 
discouraged,  I  will  relate  how  I  came  to  dis- 
pose of  my  first  screen  story. 

While  the  World  War  was  in  progress,  I 
picked  up  the  evening  paper  one  day  and 
read  a  remarkable  story  by  an  Associated 
Press  correspondent.  He  had  succeeded  in 
getting  through  the  German  lines.  For  some 
time  he  was  held  a  prisoner,  but  later  suc- 
ceeded in  making  his  escape.  While  within 


97 


"How  I  Did  It" 


the  German  lines,  he  happened  to  be  in  a 
small  town  in  France  one  day  while  the  Ger- 
mans were  marching  their  captives  to  the 
rear.  Included  in  this  procession  were  a  large 
number  of  attractive  French  girls,  who  were 
being  transported  to  Germany  to  do  manual 
labor. 

As  the  procession  passed,  the  correspondent 
noticed  that  the  bosom  of  each  woman  was 
bared  and  on  the  center  of  each  woman's 
breast  was  painted  an  ugly  cross,  in  red.  The 
newspaper  man  was  horrified,  and  he  stepped 
up  to  a  German  lieutenant  and  asked  him 
what  the  insignia  meant.  The  lieutenant 
sneeringly  replied  that  these  girls  had  re- 
mained obstinate — they  would  not  bend  to 
the  German  will — and,  as  a  warning  to  others 
in  the  towns  through  which  they  would  pass, 
they  had  been  branded  with  "the  cross  of 
shame." 

A  few  months  later  I  was  engaged  by  a  film 
company  to  make  a  trip  around  the  world, 
making  scenic  pictures.  I  got  as  far  as  Hono- 
lulu. The  company  decided  to  go  into  the 
steel  business  and  I  found  myself  without  a 


98 


Persistency 

job,  and  about  7000  miles  from  New  York. 
However,  the  company  had  been  kind  enough 
not  to  leave  me  stranded,  and  cabled  me 
enough  money  to  return  to  New  York,  if  I 
cared  to  come  back;  if  I  didn't,  they  weren't 
particularly  interested. 

Arriving  in  San  Francisco,  I  decided  that  I 
would  run  down  to  Los  Angeles  and  see  "how 
the  movies  are  made."  I  did.  I  liked  the 
place.  In  fact,  I  liked  it  so  much  that  the 
first  thing  I  knew  I  had  spent  my  carfare.  I 
was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  and  decided 
about  the  best  thing  for  me  to  do  would  be  to 
write  some  stories,  sell  them,  and  then  go  on 
to  New  York.  All  of  which  was  easier  said 
than  done. 

So,  I  started  to  write.  And,  the  interesting 
part  of  it  is,  that  I  didn't  attempt  to  write 
scenarios;  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  do  so.  I 
was  going  to  write  fiction  stories,  and  I  was 
only  3400  miles  from  the  place  where  they 
buy  such  things! 

At  the  time  I  made  the  resolution  that  I 
would  write,  I  had  no  idea  what  I  would 
write  about.  In  fact,  with  the  exception  of 


99 


"How  I  Did  It" 


two  short  stories  which  I  had  managed  to  get 
out  of  my  system  a  few  years  before,  I  had  no 
concrete  proof  that  I  could  do  what  I  had  re- 
solved I  must  do. 

Finally,  I  recalled  that  story  of  "the  cross 
of  shame."  I  would  write  a  novelette  around 
that  fact.  The  news  item  had  made  such  an 
impression  on  my  mind  at  the  time  of  read- 
ing that  I  remembered  every  word  of  it.  So 
I  began  writing  the  story,  and  gave  it  the  title, 
"The  Cross  of  Shame." 

One  day,  a  little  later,  my  wife  returned 
from  a  shopping  jaunt  and  told  me  of  a  very 
fine  picture  which  was  being  exhibited  in  a 
downtown  jewelry  store  window.  It  was  a 
painting  of  Mary  Pickford,  in  the  role  of  a 
Red  Cross  nurse.  She  was  kneeling  beside 
the  cot  of  a  soldier  as  she  dressed  his  wounds. 
The  soldier  was  Wallie  Reid. 

That  evening  I  sought  out  this  window  and 
studied  the  painting.  It  was  a  beautiful  work, 
with  fine  tones  and  excellent  lighting,  and 
seemed  like  the  work  of  a  famous  artist.  As 
I  gazed  at  this  painting  I  decided  that  the 
artist  that  painted  this  picture  ought  to  make 


100 


Earle  Williams.   Star  of   "The   Highest  Trump,"  "A   Rogue's  Romance," 
"When  a   Man  Loves,"  and  "Bring   Him   In" 


Persistency 

some  illustrations  for  my  story,  "The  Cross  of 
Shame."  The  signature  was  that  of  Olga 
Printzlau,  who  later  worked  with  William 
De  Mille,  and  is  responsible  for  such  excellent 
adaptations  as  "Conrad  in  Quest  of  His 
Youth,"  "The  Bachelor  Daddy"  and  many 
other  successes.  I  made  a  note  of  the  name 
and  the  next  morning  found  her  address  in  the 
telephone  book,  and,  calling  her  up,  made  an 
appointment  for  an  interview. 

The  next  afternoon  I  called  at  her  home,  in- 
troduced myself  and  told  her  the  purpose  of 
my  visit.  She  then  told  me  the  story  of  the 
picture  I  had  admired  so  much.  It  had  been 
ordered  by  Mary  Pickf  ord,  and  it  was  the  first 
time  this  famous  screen  star  had  ever  posed 
for  a  painting  of  herself.  Being  an  ardent 
admirer  of  Miss  Printzlau's  work,  she  had 
commissioned  her  to  make  the  painting,  and 
had  paid  an  excellent  price  for  the  picture. 

I  related  to  Miss  Printzlau  the  story  I  was 
just  completing,  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
make  the  illustrations.  Even  though  she  was 
very  busy  at  the  time,  she  promised  to  make 
every  effort  to  do  this  work.  She  was  quite 


101 


"Hot*  I  Did  It" 


enthusiastic  over  my  story  and  asked  me  if  I 
had  disposed  of  the  picture  rights.  I  con- 
fessed I  had  not  thought  of  the  screen,  and 
was  not  interested  in  that  sort  of  work.  I 
confided  to  her  that  I  had  listened  to  the 
grievances  of  many  of  my  friends  who  had 
spent  hours  and  days  waiting  outside  the  office 
of  scenario  editors,  and  had  resolved  long  be- 
fore that  I  would  not  subject  myself  to  such 
embarrassment. 

Miss  Printzlau  then  said  that  she  thought  I 
had  a  "sure-fire"  sale  in  this  story,  and  ad- 
vised me  to  waste  no  time  in  getting  it  before 
a  scenario  editor,  as  she  was  convinced  it 
would  result  in  an  immediate  sale.  I  smiled, 
and  raised  a  protesting  hand.  You  see,  I  was 
being  forced  into  it.  But  she  was  persistent, 
and  asked  me  to  go  and  see  C.  Gardner  Sulli- 
van, scenario  editor  at  the  Ince  Studios,  and 
let  him  read  the  story.  I  confessed  that  almost 
all  the  manuscript  was  in  the  office  of  the  pub- 
lisher in  New  York — for  I  had  succeeded  in 
selling  the  story  upon  submitting  the  first  two 
chapters — and  that  all  I  could  give  Sullivan 


102 


Persistency 

would  be  a  verbal  synopsis.  She  pleaded  with 
me  to  take  that  to  him. 

"Go  and  tell  it  to  him,"  she  said.  "That's 
all  you  need  to  do.  There  is  such  a  demand 
for  good  stories  today  that  an  editor  is  satis- 
fied merely  to  get  an  idea." 

I  promised  her  I  would  think  it  over.  But 
I  admit  that  I  dismissed  it  from  my  mind,  and 
when  I  saw  her  a  week  later,  and  in  reply  to 
her  questioning,  confessed  that  I  had  not  done 
anything  about  it,  she  seemed  greatly  disap- 
pointed. Then  I  gave  it  serious  consideration. 
For  a  stranger  to  take  such  an  interest  in  my 
story  was  indeed  extraordinary.  So  partially 
because  of  this,  and  in  order  to  show  her  that 
I  appreciated  her  interest,  I  agreed  to  act  on 
her  advice. 

Accordingly,  I  went  to  the  Ince  Studio  and 
succeeded  in  obtaining  an  interview  with 
Sullivan.  I  told  him  I  was  not  there  of  my 
own  free  will;  that  I  had  never  taken  the 
screen  seriously,  and  had  no  copy  of  the  story. 
You  see,  even  though  I  had  gone  this  far,  I 
was  still  prejudiced.  Sullivan  was  most 
courteous  and  gave  me  two  hours  of  his  time 


103 


"flow  /  Did  It" 


as  he  listened  to  my  verbal  synopsis.  He  said 
nothing  during  that  length  of  time,  and  gave 
me  no  outward  sign  of  what  he  thought  of  my 
story.  I  had  decided,  long  before  I  com- 
pleted the  narrative,  that  we  had  both  lost  two 
valuable  hours. 

But  imagine  my  surprise  when  he  said, 
after  a  slight  pause,  when  I  had  finished;  "It's 
a  great  story !  .  .  .  Just  the  thing  we've  been 
looking  for.  .  .  .  It'll  make  an  excellent  ve- 
hicle for  Dorothy  Dalton.  .  .  .  How  much  do 
you  want  for  it?" 

This  was  too  much,  even  for  an  underfed 
writer  to  withstand  all  in  one  breath,  and  I 
was  so  excited  that  I  requested  a  little  more 
time  in  which  to  think  it  over.  I  left  him, 
agreeing  to  phone  him  in  a  day  or  two. 

I  did  phone  him,  as  I  had  promised,  and 
sold  the  story  to  Mr.  Ince  within  a  week.  I 
stipulated  that  C.  Gardner  Sullivan  must  write 
the  continuity,  for  I  had  long  been  an  admirer 
of  his  work.  This  was  agreed,  and  he  made 
an  excellent  adaptation  of  the  story.  Mr. 
Ince  personally  supervised  the  production  and 
gave  it  some  beautiful  settings;  in  fact,  the 


104 


Eugene  O'Brien  and  H.  H.  Van  Loan   Discussing  "The  Wonderful  Chance" 


Persistency 

"Ince  standard,"  which  always  means  the  very 
highest  of  quality  in  pictures,  was  maintained 
throughout  the  entire  production.  Dorothy 
Dalton  was  very  enthusiastic  over  the  role  of 
"Jeannette  Bouchette,"  and  gave  one  of  the 
finest  performances  of  her  career.  It  was  one 
of  my  favorite  stories,  and  to  this  day  it  has 
remained  my  favorite  picture  because  of  its 
high-class  presentation  by  a  man  who  has  the 
largest  number  of  successes  to  his  credit  and 
who  has  consistently  maintained  a  high  stand- 
ard of  film  productions.  The  picture  was  re- 
leased under  the  title  "Vive  la  France!" 

That  story  changed  the  whole  course  of  my 
career,  and  instead  of  turning  my  steps 
toward  magazine  writing,  I  decided  to  devote 
all  my  efforts  to  creating  stories  for  the 
screen.  It  opened  the  way  to  greater  things. 
Since  then  I've  sold  every  story  I've  written, 
and  I  attribute  it  to  Mary  Pickford's  decision 
to  have  a  portrait  of  herself  painted;  secondly, 
to  her  having  chosen  Olga  Printzlau  to  do  the 
work,  and  thirdly,  to  my  wife's  persistent 
habit  of  gazing  into  shop  windows. 


106 


"Hotc  /  Did  It" 


So  it  is  probable  that  "America's  Sweet- 
heart" has  never  known  until  now  how  much 
her  picture  accomplished  for  one  poor,  strug- 
gling writer — for  the  story  is  told  here  for  the 
first  time. 

I  have  told  this  story  simply  to  encourage 
others  who  are  trying  to  write  for  the  screen. 
If  God  has  given  you  the  gift  to  create  plots, 
all  I  can  say  is,  "Keep  at  it."  Let  nothing  de- 
tract you  from  your  work.  Stick  to  it  until  you 
reach  the  borders  of  purgatory,  and  then  put 
on  an  asbestos  suit  and  wade  through  the  in- 
ferno. But  never  permit  your  courage  and 
faith  to  weaken  for  a  moment.  That  same 
rule  can  be  applied  to  all  walks  of  life.  It  is 
called  "persistency."  It  eventually  brings  suc- 
cess. How  often  we  hear  the  statement,  "If 
I'd  only  stuck  a  little  longer,  I'd  have  made 
a  fortune."  It's  the  "sticking"  quality  that 
wins.  The  one  who  sticks  is  the  one  who 
succeeds,  even  though  he  has  to  crawl  on  his 
hands  and  knees.  To  finish — to  be  among 
those  who  endured — that  is  what  counts. 


106 


CHAPTER  VII 

TITLES 

Devote  considerable  thought  to  the  main 
title  of  your  story.  Don't  accept  the  first  title 
that  comes  to  you.  It  won't  be  the  best  title 
for  your  story.  Spend  as  much  time  in  the  se- 
lection of  your  title  as  you  spend  on  the 
story  itself.  Of  course  many  times  the  pro- 
ducer changes  titles,  but  when  you  send  your 
story  to  him  you  have  every  reason  to  believe 
he  will  retain  the  original  title.  If  it  is  really 
good,  he  will  probably  use  it. 

Often  we  find,  upon  completion  of  a  story, 
that  the  working  out  of  the  plot  has  provided 
us  with  a  better  title  than  we  had  in  the  be- 
ginning. Perhaps  this  wouldn't  occur  to  you. 
But  think  it  over,  before  and  after,  and  see  if 
your  title  is  a  good  one.  Make  certain  that 
your  title  delivers  the  message.  The  title 
should  attract  attention,  arouse  interest  and 
create  desire.  If  it  does  this  it  is  a  drawing 
power  for  the  box-office.  In  the  majority  of 


107 


How  I  Did  It" 


cases  the  title  sells  the  story,  both  to  the  pro- 
ducer and  the  public.  The  title  is  the  adver- 
tisement of  the  story  and  the  producer  de- 
pends on  it  to  get  the  exhibitor  to  book  it 
and  the  exhibitor  depends  on  it  to  draw  the 
patrons  to  his  theatre. 

In  addition  to  this,  be  sure  to  keep  the 
length  of  your  title  short.  Use  as  few  words 
as  possible.  Remember  the  average  space  re- 
served for  the  incandescent  lights  announcing 
the  current  production  in  front  of  a  theatre 
will  not  accommodate  more  than  a  dozen  let- 
ters. It  peeves  the  exhibitor  to  have  a  long 
title,  with  four  or  five  words,  and  he  has  to 
fret  and  fume  as  he  ponders  how  he  is  to  dis- 
play the  name  of  the  production  without 
eliminating  some  of  the  words.  When  he  is 
compelled  to  reduce  the  number  of  words  in 
the  title  it  affects  the  neatness  of  the  front  of 
the  theatre.  But  more  important  than  all 
else,  it  registers  a  noticeable  decrease  in  re- 
ceipts. 

The  writer  of  photoplays  must  realize  that 
the  title  is  just  as  important  as  the  story  itself. 
Many  stories  have  been  sold  to  producers 


108 


Titles 

because  the  title  had  a  "punch"  in  it.  The 
title  is  the  first  thing  the  producer  reads,  and 
if  it  is  a  good  snappy  one,  it  doesn't  require 
much  effort  to  make  him  read  the  script.  A 
good  title  will  always  arouse  curiosity.  Ches- 
ter Bennett,  an  independent  producer,  told  me 
he  bought  a  story  recently  because  of  its 
title.  The  title  was  "Rock  of  Ages."  That 
is  a  good  title  for  a  story.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  the  title  is  not  a  good  one  the  interest  of 
the  producer  fails  to  be  stirred.  Perhaps  he 
decides  that  such  a  mediocre  title  will  prob- 
ably be  followed  by  a  mediocre  story,  and  he 
will  not  even  take  the  time  to  read  it. 

However,  the  judgment  of  the  experienced 
screen  writer  and  the  producer  are  not  always 
correct  in  the  choosing  of  titles.  Every  sea- 
son there  are  many  good  photoplays,  with  fine 
plots,  portrayed  by  excellent  actors,  which  fail 
to  reap  financial  harvests  predicted  for  them, 
because  of  poor  titles.  I  will  cite  an  expe- 
rience of  mine  along  this  line. 

When  I  sold  "The  Great  Redeemer"  to 
Maurice  Tourneur  I  especially  requested  that 
he  retain  the  original  title.  He  was  some- 


109 


"How  1  Did  It 


what  opposed  to  it,  and  said  he  feared  it  was 
too  religious  and  would  keep  a  good  many 
people  away  from  the  theatre.  I  disagreed 
with  him,  and  much  to  his  regret,  he  kept  my 
title. 

I  happened  to  he  in  San  Francisco  when 
the  picture  was  showing  at  the  California 
Theatre,  and  I  asked  Eugene  Roth,  the  man- 
aging director  of  the  house,  what  sort  of  busi- 
ness he  did  with  the  picture.  He  shook  his 
head  as  he  informed  me  that  receipts  fell  be- 
low the  average  that  week.  At  the  end  of  the 
run,  he  said,  he  called  a  meeting  of  his  staff 
in  his  office  and  solicited  their  opinions  as  to 
what  caused  the  slump.  He  had  expected  to 
do  a  big  business  with  the  picture,  and  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  understand  why  he  didn't.  It 
played  during  a  profitable  season  of  the  year; 
the  weather  was  good,  and  the  general  com- 
ment of  the  audience  as  it  passed  out  was  that 
it  was  a  fine  picture.  In  view  of  these  things, 
the  concensus  of  opinion  of  his  staff  was  that 
the  title  was  against  it.  People  paused  in 
front  of  the  theatre,  looked  at  the  title,  "The 
Great  Redeemer,"  and  passed  on  down  the 


no 


Titles 


street.  It  evidently  was  a  religious  picture. 
Therefore,  they  didn't  want  to  see  it.  Man- 
ager Fred  Miller,  of  the  California  Theatre  in 
Los  Angeles,  told  me  he  booked  the  picture 
for  two  weeks  because  he  believed  he  would  do 
a  great  business  with  it.  Like  Mr.  Roth,  he  was 
disappointed,  and  his  reason  was  the  same.  I 
then  realized  I  had  make  a  grave  mistake  in 
insisting  that  the  original  title  be  retained. 

The  title  must  have  a  pulling  power.  It  is 
a  fact  that  a  good  story  with  a  poor  title  will 
deny  the  producer  thousands  of  dollars  which 
he  is  rightfully  entitled  to  on  the  merits  of  his 
production.  It  is  also  true  that  an  excellent 
title  will  very  often  put  a  poor  picture  over. 
Such  titles  as  "Don't  Change  Your  Wife." 
"Ladies  Must  Live,"  "Reported  Missing"  and 
"Passion"  arouse  the  curiosity  of  those  who 
attend  picture  theatres.  They  also  attract  the 
attention  of  the  floating  population,  who 
wander  aimlessly  up  and  down  the  main 
thoroughfare  of  a  city  wondering  where  to 
seek  amusement.  If  they  pause  before  a 
theatre  which  illuminates  a  striking  title  they 
will  undoubtedly  want  to  see  the  picture. 


111 


"How  I  Did  It" 


They  are  attracted  inside  because  they  believe 
there's  something  promising  behind  that  par- 
ticular title. 

One  often  hears  it  said,  among  producers, 
"The  title  made  that  picture,"  and  it  is  very 
often  true. 

Be  sure  and  give  your  story  the  very  best 
title  it  is  possible  for  you  to  give  it.  It  may 
be  the  means  of  your  selling  the  story,  and  the 
selling  of  your  story  may  be  the  means  of 
breaking  the  ice  for  you  and  starting  you  on 
the  road  to  success.  Concentrate  on  the  title. 
I  cannot  impress  this  too  forcibly  on  the  aspir- 
ant. A  few  years  ago,  a  producer  paid  me 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  a  title.  I 
wrote  a  story  and  called  it  "The  Mirth  of  a 
Nation,"  and  Julius  Stern,  producer  of  Cen- 
tury Comedies,  liked  it  so  well  that  he  asked 
me  if  I  would  sell  him  the  title,  alone.  I  did, 
and  he  paid  me  the  above-mentioned  sum. 

Only  recently  a  producer  offered  to  buy  the 
title,  "The  Siren  of  Seville"  for  one  thousand 
dollars,  and  another  asked  me  if  I  would  sell 
him  "Thundering  Silence"  for  the  same 
amount.  But  I  refused  both  offers,  because 


112 


Titles 


they  absolutely  fit  the  stories.  I  had  spent 
weeks  in  thinking  up  those  titles.  On  another 
occasion,  a  producer  thought  up  a  good  title 
and  paid  me  to  write  a  story  around  it. 


us 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PRESENTATION 

Don't  attempt  to  write  continuity  unless 
you  know  how.  It  is  a  separate  work  in  itself 
and  should  not  be  written,  or  attempted,  ex- 
cept by  those  who  have  made  a  study  of  it. 
Today  every  studio  has  a  very  efficient  staff  of 
continuity  writers  who  are  paid  very  good 
prices  for  putting  stories  into  technical  shape 
for  the  screen.  They  are  writers  who  have 
made  a  study  of  this  line  of  work  and  are 
experts  in  it. 

Very  few  screen  authors  write  the  con- 
tinuities for  their  stories.  Very  few  of  them 
like  to  do  it  because  it  is  too  mechanical.  The 
majority  of  screen  writers  have  found  that  in 
writing  continuity  they  have  not  done  their 
best  work  because  it  required  too  close  atten- 
tion to  technical  detail  and  thus  interfered 
with  the  smoothness  of  the  plot.  In  other 
words,  there  is  so  much  mechanical  labor  con- 
nected with  it  that  it  prevents  the  writer  from 
doing  his  best  on  his  plot. 


114 


Presentation 


However,  it  will  do  no  harm  for  the  writer 
who  desires  to  devote  his  efforts  to  writing 
for  the  screen  to  take  up  a  course  in  contin- 
uity. I  helieve  that  in  two  or  three  years  from 
now  the  leading  screen  authors  will  be  writ- 
ing their  own  continuities.  It  must  eventually 
come  to  that,  for  seldom  is  a  continuity  writer 
willing  to  follow  the  story  as  written  origin- 
ally. This  is  because  no  two  writers  would 
write  the  same  story  in  the  same  way. 

The  continuity  writer  has  his  own  ideas 
about  the  working  out  of  a  situation.  In  the 
past,  he  has  been  left  alone  to  work  out  the 
plot  as  he  saw  fit  and  the  result  has  often  been 
disastrous  and  good  stories  have  been  muti- 
lated and  massacred  beyond  recognition.  A 
great  deal  of  this  destruction  has  been  elimi- 
nated by  the  author  himself.  For  of  late  the 
screen  author  has  kept  a  more  watchful  eye 
over  his  brain  children  and  the  producer  is 
quite  willing  to  have  him  chaperon  his  script 
through  the  various  stages  of  growth  until 
it  reaches  the  screen. 

In  the  next  year  or  two,  the  audience  is 
going  to  note  quite  frequently,  "Produced 


116 


"Hot*  /  Did  It" 


under  the  personal  supervision  of  the  author." 
Today  the  producer  is  anxious  and  eager 
to  consult  and  confer  with  the  author  of 
the  story  and  get  his  ideas  concerning 
certain  effects  and  situations.  The  fact  that 
he  has  been  ignored  in  the  past  is  due 
solely  to  the  author  himself.  He  has  not 
been  willing  to  realize  the  importance  of 
the  photoplay  and  the  tremendous  influence 
it  has  with  all  classes.  He  has  persistently 
refused  to  take  the  screen  seriously.  I  am 
referring  now  to  the  novelist  and  famous  short 
story  writers.  The  result  has  been  that  the 
screen  has  developed  and  introduced  its  own 
authors,  and  they  are  writers  who  are  willing 
to  devote  all  their  time  to  writing  photoplays 
and  who  realize  it  is  a  very  serious  profes- 
sion, demanding  serious  work.  Those  who 
are  willing  to  take  the  screen  seriously  are  go- 
ing to  be  the  ones  who  will  reap  the  big 
benefits. 

To  those  who  aspire  to  write  exclusively 
for  the  screen,  I  cannot  impress  too  much 
the  importance  of  being  sincere  and  earnest. 
Do  not  sit  down  and  write  the  first  idea 


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that  comes  into  your  head  and  rush  it  to  a 
producer.  If  you  do,  you'll  get  it  back  just 
as  fast  as  the  producer  can  get  it  to  you.  He 
gets  hundreds  of  scripts  written  that  way  ev- 
ery week,  and  they  are  all  returned  to  their 
respective  authors.  If  you  take  your  work 
as  lightly  as  that,  you  mustn't  be  surprised 
when  you  get  it  back.  You  deserve  to  have 
it  returned.  The  office  of  a  producer  it  not 
a  receptacle  for  slipshod  scripts  and  slovenly- 
written  plots.  It's  a  high-class  institution  for 
the  serious  efforts  of  those  who  are  sincere  in 
their  desire  to  contribute  something  really 
worth  while  to  a  great  art. 

Spend  a  month,  if  necessary,  in  mental 
construction  of  the  story  you  intend  writing. 
Be  absolutely  certain  that  you  have  given  it 
the  thorough  and  careful  consideration  it  is 
entitled  to,  and  then  sit  down  and  start  put- 
ting it  into  shape. 

Don't  be  satisfied  with  the  first  writing  of 
it.  Go  over  it  with  a  critical  eye  and  put  your- 
self in  the  position  of  the  purchaser.  Study 
the  action  and  go  over  each  situation  carefully 
with  a  view  to  seeing  if  you  have  gotten  the 


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"Hotu  /  Did  It" 


most  out  of  your  story.  If  there's  any  doubt 
in  your  mind  lay  the  script  aside  and  ponder 
over  it.  Don't  seek  to  interest  the  producer 
with  a  lot  of  pretty  words  and  beautiful 
phrases  which  have  no  direct  bearing  on  the 
action  of  your  story.  He  cannot  photograph 
a  lot  of  nice  words.  He  wants  plot  and  ac- 
tion. Don't  worry  about  the  length  of  the 
story.  If  it  is  a  good  story  it  can't  be  too 
long;  providing  it  is  all  good  material  and 
not  a  mere  jungle  of  words. 

Write  your  own  subtitles.  Make  them 
as  short  as  possible  and  only  put  them  where 
they  are  actually  needed  and  where  they  will 
clarify  the  action.  Visualize  each  scene  and 
describe  it  as  you  see  it.  Your  description 
will  receive  serious  consideration,  for  you 
are  the  creator  of  the  scene  and  thus  better 
qualified  to  explain  it  than  anyone  else. 

"The  Great  Redemer"  contained  about 
thirty  thousand  words  in  the  original  script 
and  "The  New  Moon"  about  forty  thousand. 
In  fact,  most  of  my  stories  average  that 
length.  I  spent  six  weeks  in  writing  "The 
Great  Redeemer,"  five  weeks  in  completing 


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"The  New  Moon,"  two  months  in  writing 
"The  Wonderful  Chance,"  six  weeks  in  writ- 
ing "Fightin'  Mad,"  two  months  was  spent 
on  "Thundering  Silence"  and  four  months  on 
"The  Siren  of  Seville." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  spend  more  than  three 
hours  each  day  in  actual  labor.  If  you  work 
continuously  on  your  story  and  complete  it 
in  two  or  three  sittings  it  will  not  represent 
your  best  work.  It  couldn't  be  your  best, 
for  no  writer  completes  a  story  in  that  length 
of  time.  Work  on  it  when  you  feel  inspired. 

In  "Fightin'  Mad"  you  will  note  that  the 
story  begins  with  the  first  subtitle.  Immedi- 
ately there  is  action.  It  is  action  which  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  progress  of  the 
plot.  There  are  no  superfluous  scenes,  no 
unnecessary  action.  Everything  that  is  done 
has  a  direct  bearing  on  what  is  to  transpire 
later.  There  is  heart  interest  in  the  affection 
of  "Bud  McGraw"  and  his  three  pals.  In 
emphasizing  the  finer  qualities  of  this  modern 
D'Artagnan,  we  command  for  him  the  sym- 
pathy and  respect  of  the  audience.  His  desire 
for  adventure  appeals  to  the  youthfulness 


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"How  I  Did  It" 


which  is  in  all  of  us.  We  introduce  "Peggy 
Hughes"  in  order  that  we  may  have  the  ele- 
ment of  love  and  romance;  without  which  no 
story  is  complete.  In  order  to  test  his  affec- 
tion for  her,  we  place  her  in  danger.  Then 
we  inject  the  great  element  of  suspense, 
upon  which  the  success  or  failure  of  a  story 
usually  depends.  We  take  a  mental  inventor)7 
and  find  that  we  have  a  plot,  romance,  adven- 
ture and  lively  action.  That  is  all  any  story 
needs,  and  if  they  are  apportioned  carefully, 
and  lead  up  to  a  thrilling  climax,  our  story 
will  pass  the  most  critical  mind. 

A  leading  producer  informed  me  some  time 
ago  that  he  noticed  a  decided  decrease  in  the 
number  of  scripts  received  from  the  public. 
He  also  stated  that  those  received  showed  a 
marked  improvement,  indicating  that  more 
care  and  thought  are  being  taken  by  aspirants. 
If  those  who  are  endeavoring  to  write  for  the 
screen  would  appreciate  how  much  depends 
on  the  presentation  of  their  story  they  would 
spend  more  time  in  its  preparation.  An  in- 
ventor will  spend  a  long  time  perfecting  his 
invention  before  he  is  willing  to  apply  for  a 


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patent.  He  realizes  there  is  no  need  for  rush- 
ing it,  and  for  each  improvement  he  makes  the 
greater  will  he  his  reward  in  the  end.  A  writer 
is  an  inventor  of  plot  and  he  depends  on 
his  ingenuity  and  creative  ability  to  develop 
a  story.  The  more  time  he  spends  on  it  the 
greater  will  be  his  chances  of  having  it  ac- 
cepted. There's  no  need  of  rushing  it. 

There  is  one  virtue  which  the  average  em- 
bryo writer  doesn't  seem  to  possess.  It  is 
patience.  Fifty  per  cent  of  the  scripts  which 
are  sent  to  the  producers  are  accompanied 
by  urgent  requests  that  immediate  action  be 
taken  and  a  decision  rendered  at  once.  Those 
who  are  attempting  to  write  for  the  screen 
should  understand  the  importance  which  goes 
with  decision.  The  cost  of  producing  the  story 
may  mean  anywhere  from  thirty  thousand  to  a 
half  a  million  dollars.  A  fortune  may  be  at 
stake.  Perhaps  the  producer  is  going  to  put  his 
last  dollar  in  his  next  production.  He  must 
take  time,  in  fairness  to  himself  and  to  those 
who  are  manifesting  their  faith  in  his  judg- 
ment by  putting  up  the  capital.  To  expect 
him  to  render  a  quick  decision  on  a  story 


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"Hot*  I  Did  It" 


which  may  mean  an  outlay  of  a  hundred 
thousand  or  perhaps  more,  is  not  fair.  Many 
producers  work  with  very  limited  capital  and 
are  only  financed  for  each  production.  The 
story  must  be  fool-proof;  it  must  have  all  the 
evidences  of  a  box-office  attraction — a  picture 
that  will  make  money.  The  producer  may  read 
the  story  and  spend  days  reflecting  over  its 
possibilities  of  being  a  success.  He  may  like 
certain  things  in  it  and  decide  he  will  hold  it 
for  a  little  while,  and,  if  nothing  better  comes 
along,  use  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  may  lack  sufficient 
capital  at  the  present  moment,  or  perhaps  he 
is  waiting  for  the  return  of  his  investment 
on  his  last  picture  before  beginning  work  on 
his  next  production.  There  are  many  ele- 
ments which  enter  into  the  purchase  if  a 
story,  and  they  are  all  foreign  to  those  on 
the  outside.  Give  a  producer  a  reasonable 
length  of  time  in  which  to  make  his  decision. 

Producers  are  as  a  rule  charitable,  kind- 
hearted  and  generous.  But  they  cannot  af- 
ford to  purchase  a  script  because  it  happens 
to  have  been  written  by  "a  poor  widow,  with 


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six  fatherless  children  to  support,"  or  a  youth 
who  is  trying  to  "make  enough  money  to  pay 
his  college  tuition."  A  novelist  wouldn't  send 
such  a  letter  to  a  book  publisher  and  a  play- 
wright wouldn't  repeat  it  to  a  stage  producer. 
Then  why  pour  out  a  letter  like  that  to  a 
film  producer?  Producers  cannot  spend  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  on  the  production 
of  a  story  because  the  writer  happens  to  be 
living  in  an  alms  house  or  is  "trying  to  get 
enough  money  to  pay  for  mother's  operation," 
Such  a  condition  should  bring  out  the  best  that 
is  in  anyone.  Few  rich  men  write  successful 
novels,  books,  plays  or  photoplays.  But  peo- 
ple have  been  known  to  become  rich  writing 
them. 


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CHAPTER  IX. 

ADAPTATIONS 

In  a  recent  issue  of  one  of  America's  most 
popular  periodicals  there  appeared  an  article 
on  moving  pictures  which  should  interest 
every  individual  who  is  endeavoring  to  be- 
come a  photodramatist.  It  said,  in  part: 

"The  next  important  evolution  in  the  mo- 
tion picture  industry  will  be  a  marked  ad- 
vance in  the  quality  of  the  stories  filmed. 
Scenario  writing  is  the  most  experimental  and 
undeveloped  end  of  the  business.  The  pic- 
ture producers  are  aware  that  an  art  which  is 
a  copy  is  never  as  good  as  a  copy  of  Nature. 
For  this  reason  they  are  looking  forward  to 
the  day  when  original  stories  will  be  the 
thing."" 

That  day  has  already  arrived.  The  pro- 
ducer admits  today  that  the  original  story  is 
the  thing.  He  will  confess  he  has  had  his 
fill  of  adaptations  of  books  and  plays,  which, 
in  order  to  make  screen  material,  have  been 


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Adaptations 

distorted  and  twisted  and  turned  until  they 
could  hardly  be  recognized.  The  producer 
will  further  admit  that  he  has  made  these 
adaptations  against  his  better  judgment.  The 
public  demanded  them.  In  the  future,  the 
majority  of  photoplays  will  be  made  from 
original  scripts,  written  by  photodramatists 
who  know  their  screen  and  its  technique. 

When  Mary  Pickford  and  Douglas  Fair- 
banks returned  from  Europe,  the  Screen 
Writer's  Guild  gave  a  dinner  in  their  honor 
one  evening  which  was  attended  by  nearly  all 
the  screen  authors  in  Los  Angeles  and  Holly- 
wood. After  the  dinner  was  over,  Mary  made 
a  very  interesting  talk.  She  announced  that 
she  was  through  with  adaptations  of  books 
and  plays,  and  that  henceforth  she  wanted 
tailor-made  stories,  written  especially  for  her 
by  authors  who  know  their  screen. 

This  statement  was  a  radical  departure 
from  her  attitude  in  the  past.  For  those  who 
have  been  writing  for  the  screen  have  always 
realized  that  she  preferred  books  and  plays 
which  had  been  popularized  before  they  were 
made  into  pictures.  A  year  or  two  ago  she 


"How  I  Did  It" 


would  not  have  entertained  an  unpublished 
story,  and  screen  authors  knew  better  than  to 
take  their  material  to  her  for  a  reading.  But 
at  last  she  has  seen  the  light,  and  realizes  that 
the  successful  photoplays  of  the  future  will 
come  from  the  pen  of  writers  who  are  famil- 
iar with  the  screen  and  know  how  to  write 
for  it. 

Nine  of  the  biggest  successes  last  year  were 
original  productions  from  original  stories. 
The  pictures  grossed  approximately  $500,000 
and  $750,000  each.  In  the  future  the  screen 
author  will  be  supreme.  At  present  producers 
are  employing  the  best  literary  talent  obtain- 
able to  write  their  stories.  Some  of  these 
writers  are  being  paid  as  much  as  $75,000  a 
year.  Isn't  that  goal  worth  striving  for,  dear 
reader?  Producers  are  paying  as  high  as 
$10,000  for  an  original  script  today,  and  they 
are  willing  to  pay  even  more  in  order  to  get 
what  they  want. 

However,  bear  in  mind  that  the  writers 
who  are  receiving  these  big  prices  for  their 
stories  are  the  ones  who  spend  care,  thought 
and  time  in  the  development  of  their  work. 


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Adaptations 

They  realize  that  the  screen  is  a  wonderful 
medium  of  entertainment  and  instruction,  and 
has  25,000,000  admirers  who  enjoy  its  com- 
edies, dramas  and  tragedies,  every  week. 
These  writers  take  their  work  seriously  and 
they  are  entitled  to  the  reward  they  receive. 
Some  of  them  are  going  to  be  content  to  write 
not  more  than  four  or  five  stories  a  year  in 
the  future.  If  the  producers  pay  such  writers 
$25,000  each  for  four  or  five  stories,  they 
will  still  be  able  to  make  a  handsome  profit  on 
those  stories,  because  they  will  be  the  best 
that  the  best  screen  authors  will  be  able  to 
write. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  put  a  valuation 
on  the  work  of  an  individual's  brain.  A  story, 
providing  it  is  good,  is  worth  just  as  much  as 
the  writer  thinks  it  is.  It's  worth  more  prob- 
ably than  he  will  ever  get  for  it.  If  it  is 
"just  the  sort  of  story  that  the  screen  needs" 
the  producer  will  be  quick  to  discover  it. 

Those  who  write  their  stories  in  long-hand 
must  be  satisfied  with  the  reception  those 
stories  receive  from  the  producer.  Those  who 
spend  many  real,  serious  hours  each  day  over 


"flow  /  Did  It" 


their  work  in  their  desire  to  turn  out  a  story 
that  will  bring  results,  must  not  become  dis- 
couraged if  it  is  returned.  The  producer 
may  have  a  very  good  reason  for  rejecting  it. 
One  producer  may  like  the  story  very  much, 
but  perhaps  he  hasn't  a  star  to  fit  the  role. 
Another  may  turn  it  down  because  it  would 
cost  more  money  to  produce  than  he  is  in  a 
position  to  spend.  A  third  may  return  it  be- 
cause it  is  not  the  particular  type  of  story  he 
wants  to  produce.  Some  producers  like 
stories  dealing  with  domestic  problems ;  others 
prefer  all-star  productions,  wherein  there  are 
a  number  of  strong  roles;  others  want  "spe- 
cials," without  featuring  any  particular  actor 
or  actress,  while  others  want  big  spectacles. 
If  the  aspirant  is  thin-skinned  and  easily  dis- 
couraged, then  it  is  better  he  put  an  end  to  his 
ambitions  as  far  as  the  screen  is  concerned, 
and  take  up  some  other  line  of  work. 

To  get  anywhere,  to  do  anything,  requires 
a  tenacity  of  purpose,  a  will  that  cannot  be 
crushed  and  a  determination  that  refuses  to 
acknowledge  defeat.  If  you  really  desire  to 
become  a  successful  photodramatist,  you  will. 


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Adaptations 

Stick  to  it  with  a  grim  persistency,  and 
though  your  script  comes  home  a  dozen  times, 
send  it  out  once  more,  and  maybe  the  next 
time  it  will  be  accepted.  The  one  who  suc- 
ceeds is  the  one  who  sticks  to  his  task.  You 
can't  continually  fail  doing  any  one  thing,  un- 
less there's  something  wrong  with  you. 

I  submitted  the  original  script  of  "The 
Great  Redeemer"  to  everyone  in  the  industry 
before  Maurice  Tourneur  finally  accepted  it. 
"The  Virgin  of  Stamboul"  I  wrote  especially 
for  Norma  Talmadge  and  finally  sold  it  to  the 
Universal  for  Priscilla  Dean.  "The  New 
Moon"  I  wrote  for  Dorothy  Dalton,  and 
Norma  Talmadge  purchased  it.  "Bring  Him 
In"  I  wrote  for  Lewis  S.  Stone,  and  Earle  Wil- 
liams bought  it.  "Fightin'  Mad"  was  origi- 
nally written  for  Jack  Dempsey,  and  in  the 
end  it  was  enacted  by  a  carefully  selected  cast 
including  William  Desmond,  Virginia  Brown 
Faire,  William  Lawrence,  Rosemary  Theby, 
Doris  Pawn,  Joseph  Dowling  and  Emmett 
King. 

I  could  go  on  reciting  innumerable  expe- 
riences to  prove  that  when  a  story  is  com- 


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"How  I  Did  It" 


pleted  the  author's  work  is  only  half  done. 
It  requires  just  as  much  patience  in  disposing 
of  the  script  as  it  did  in  writing  it.  I  wrote 
a  detective  story  for  Earle  Williams  once  and 
it  finally  came  out  as  a  serial,  called  "The 
Third  Eye,"  with  Warner  Oland  and  Eileen 
Percy.  If  I  had  become  discouraged  with  the 
first  few  refusals  of  these  stories,  I  would 
probably  have  every  one  of  them  now  resting 
in  the  bottom  of  my  trunk. 

I  believe  the  screen  writer,  especially  the 
one  who  lives  far  from  the  studio  centres,  will 
find  much  encouragement  in  the  attitude  that 
has  been  assumed  by  James  Young,  the  noted 
director,  in  searching  for  a  screen  adapter  to 
build  up  Charles  H.  Hoyt's  stage-play,  "A 
Texas  Steer,"  so  that  it  will  be  thoroughly 
screenable. 

This  will  be  no  easy  task,  for  "A  Texas 
Steer"  is  "talky"  and  lacking  in  love  interest 
and  other  important  essentials  of  real  picture 
material.  To  quote  Mr.  Young's  own  estimate 
of  the  play,  as  it  stands  now  it  contains  but 
twenty-five  per  cent  of  pictorial  value. 


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Adaptations 

Mr.  Young  lives  in  Hollywood,  where  more 
than  ninety  per  cent  of  the  world's  output  of 
motion  pictures  is  made.  He  could  easily 
locate  a  score  of  competent  adapters  and  con- 
tinuity experts  who  would  make  his  play  into 
acceptable  photodrama,  or  in  this  instance 
"photofarce,"  but  he  has  taken  a  new  angle 
on  his  ideas  along  this  line. 

Mr.  Young  visited  the  offices  of  the  largest 
institution  for  the  instruction  of  the  technique 
of  photoplay  writing  in  the  country  and  un- 
folded this  story: 

"I  am  the  owner,  with  Sam  Rork,  the  pro- 
ducer, of  the  screen  rights  of  the  late  Charles 
A.  Hoyt's  'A  Texas  Steer.'  I  will  soon  be 
ready  to  produce  it  as  a  motion  picture,  but 
like  a  great  many  stage  plays  it  is  far  from 
containing  adequate  picture  material.  If  you 
will  put  your  student-body  in  competition 
with  one  another  in  an  effort  to  give  me  a 
screen  adaptation  of  this  play,  I  will  see  that 
the  successful  adapter  is  paid  well  for  his 
work.  Mind  you,  I  do  not  say  that  I  will 
want  an  adaptation  that  will  absolutely  fill  all 
my  requirements,  but  will  accept  the  best  ef- 


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"flow  1  Did  It" 


fort  turned  in  by  one  of  your  students,  and 
pay  him  accordingly." 

When  it  is  considered  that  a  great  many  of 
the  students  of  the  institution  to  which  Mr. 
Young  applied  live  all  over  the  country,  and 
that  the  great  majority  of  them  have  never 
been  even  near  a  studio,  it  rather  arouses 
one's  curiosity  to  know  just  why  Mr.  Young 
passed  up  the  Hollywood  community  of  screen 
experts  in  favor  of  the  fellow  out  in  the 
sticks. 

And  here  is  the  reason  he  himself  gives : 
"The  student  screen  author  who  lives  in 
the  smaller  communities  has  less  means  of 
diversion  than  those  who  are  in  the  larger 
centres.  The  fellow  from  the  small  town,  as 
it  were,  finds  that  moving  pictures  provide 
his  principal  form  of  entertainment,  and  he 
patronizes  them  quite  liberally.  Thus  he  be- 
comes a  close  student  of  the  picture.  His 
critical  and  analytical  powers  are  vastly  im- 
proved and  increased  and  he  acquires  a 
greater  knowledge  of  story  value.  He  does 
not  necessarily  have  to  complete  his  tuition 
in  screen  authorship  in  a  studio,  for  the  tech- 


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Eileen  Percy  Played  the  Feminine  Lead  in  the  Pathe  Serial,  "The  Third  Eye" 


Adaptations 

nique  of  the  studio  is  quite  mechanical,  and 
can  be,  and  actually  is  being  reduced  to 
form,  so  that  it  can  be  taught  by  correspond- 


ence." 


For  a  director  like  James  Young  to  take 
such  a  step  as  this  should  be  considered  as 
quite  flattering  to  the  writer  or  student-writer 
who  lives  away  from  the  production  centres, 
for  Mr.  Young's  position  in  the  screen  world 
is  a  very  notable  one.  It  will  be  recalled  that 
when  George  Arliss  was  to  be  presented  in  his 
first  motion  picture  starring  venture,  James 
Young  was  chosen  by  the  producers  as  the 
logical  directorial  genius  to  give  the  artistic 
guidance  over  the  wide  chasm  between  the 
stage  and  the  screen  to  this  most  distinguished 
actor.  Likewise  when  Richard  Walton  Tully, 
the  noted  stage  producer,  decided  to  turn  his 
activities  and  those  of  his  star,  Guy  Bates 
Post,  toward  the  motion  picture  screen,  James 
Young  was  promtply  engaged  to  direct  the 
first  two  of  the  Tully-Post  productions,  "The 
Masquerader"  and  "Omar  the  Tentmaker." 

My  admiration  of  his  ability  comes  partly 
from  a  pleasant  association  with  him  in  the 


133 


"How  1  Did  It" 


production  of  several  of  my  stories,  including 
"The  Highest  Trump"  and  "A  Rogue's  Ro- 
mance." In  assisting  him  in  the  picturization 
of  these  stories  I  found  him  always  consider- 
ate and  most  willing  to  accept  my  sugges- 
tions. The  same  cannot  be  said  of  many  di- 
rectors— especially  in  the  past — who  have 
heen  inclined  to  ignore  assistance  from  the 
author  and  have  preferred  to  give  their  inter- 
pretation of  another's  creation. 

When  I  told  Mr.  Young  that  I  intended 
writing  a  book  for  the  purpose  of  aiding 
those  who  aspire  to  write  for  the  screen,  he 
was  most  enthusiastic  and  pointed  out  that 
while  the  majority  of  screen  writers  and 
adapters  are  located  in  Hollywood,  yet  it 
would  be  folly  to  assume  that  there  are  not 
equally  as  good  writers  in  other  localities.  It 
would  be  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  all  of 
the  screen-writing  talent  is  to  be  found  in  one 
definite  center,  he  declared,  for  are  not  the 
great  playwrights  and  authors  of  the  country 
scattered  throughout  the  various  states? 


134 


CHAPTER  X. 

MARKETING  THE  STORY 

"Where  shall  I  send  my  story?  How  can 
I  reach  the  producers  or  stars  who  buy  the 
stories  of  free-lance  writers?" 

These  questions  are  put  to  me  probably 
more  than  any  others  concerning  the  writing 
and  marketing  of  photoplays.  I  rarely  try  to 
answer  either  of  these  queries.  But  if  you 
will  absorb  carefully  the  information  I  will 
give  you  here,  I  think  you  will  be  on  a  fair 
way  to  find  the  proper  persons  to  consider  the 
stories  you  desire  to  sell. 

In  the  first  place,  more  than  ninety  per  cent 
of  American  picture  production  is  in  Los  An- 
geles, and  Hollywood,  which  is  really  a  part  of 
Los  Angeles — its  northerly  suburb,  so  to 
speak.  There  is  very  little  production  in  New 
York  or  Miami,  Fla.  Of  course,  small  units 
are  scattered  about,  but  it  is  of  the  larger  con- 
cerns that  I  will  advise  you  now. 


136 


"How  I  Did  It" 


I  presume  that  when  you  write  a  story  you 
have  your  idea  as  to  whom  it  would  suit — 
whether  it  be  a  star  or  balanced  cast  of  fea- 
tured players.  If  you  live  in  a  fairly  small 
centre,  your  first  source  of  information  lies 
through  your  exhibitors,  or  theatre  managers. 
If  they  are  willing  to  help  you,  with  a  little 
patience  you  can  get  the  information  you 
desire. 

Suppose  you  have  written  a  story  you 
think  would  be  fine  for  House  Peters,  or  Eu- 
gene O'Brien.  There  is  no  way  of  your  find- 
ing out  that  House  Peters  is  a  "free-lance" 
player  and  does  not  star  or  have  a  company  of 
his  own.  For  this  reason  it  would  be  of  no 
use  to  send  Mr.  Peters  your  script.  Eugene 
O'Brien's  contract  with  Selznick  Pictures  re- 
cently expired  and  his  future  is  not  settled,  as 
far  as  he  is  concerned.  In  the  meantime  he 
is  not  buying  stories  and  no  one  is  buying  for 
him.  Later,  if  you  should  see  a  paragraph  in 
some  paper  stating  that  Eugene  O'Brien  has 
signed  a  starring  contract  with  "Blank  Produc- 
tions," of  Los  Angeles,  clip  the  announcement 
and  file  it  away.  Then,  when  you  have  a  ve- 


136 


Marketing  the  Story 


hicle  that  you  think  would  be  a  good  one  for 
Mr.  O'Brien,  mail  it  to  the  "Scenario  Editor, 
Blank  Productions,  Los  Angeles,  Cal." 

Watch  the  papers.  Get  one  that  has  a  live 
moving  picture  page,  even  if  from  another 
city.  If  you  are  writing  for  the  screen  you 
must  keep  abreast  of  its  innumerable  twistings 
of  stars  and  players. 

All  producers  and  distributors  of  motion 
pictures  employ  competent  publicity  staffs 
who  supply  all  the  papers  of  any  size  in  this 
country  full  reports  of  their  interesting  do- 
ings. If  your  home  town  paper  is  lacking  in 
proper  screen  news,  tell  its  editor.  If  he  has 
opposition  papers  he  will  listen  to  you.  The 
film  news  pours  in  on  him  every  week  and 
costs  him  nothing. 

You've  just  finished  a  story  that  should  fit 
Ethel  Clayton,  we'll  say  for  argument's  sake. 
We  all  have  associated  Miss  Clayton  with 
Lasky's  for  years.  But  she  recently  finished 
her  Lasky  contract  and  signed  with  Robertson- 
Cole,  in  Hollywood.  You  probably  have  not 
heard  of  it  yet,  but  if  you  read  of  her  change, 
you  should,  on  general  principles,  cut  out  this 


137 


"How  I  Did  It" 


clipping  and  index  it.  You  can  get  the  ad- 
dress of  any  film  star,  producer  or  player,  by 
writing  to  the  fan  magazines,  but  it  is  some- 
times weeks  before  your  answer  is  printed. 
Suppose  you  sent  a  story  to  Lasky's  Holly- 
wood Studio  marked  for  Ethel  Clayton.  It 
is  probable  they  would  return  the  script  with 
Miss  Clayton's  new  address.  But  suppose 
they  didn't.  You  get  your  story  back  and  you 
are  at  sea  as  to  where  to  locate  Miss  Clayton. 
Go  to  one  of  your  neighborhood  moving 
picture  theatres  and  ask  the  manager  if  he 
knows  with  what  concern  Ethel  Clayton  is  now 
identified.  Maybe  he  never  played  Para- 
mount-Lasky  pictures  when  Ethel  Clayton 
was  with  Lasky,  and  maybe  he  is  not  booking 
Robertson-Cole  pictures,  which  will  include 
Ethel  Clayton  productions.  But  just  the 
same  that  exhibitor  reads  a  number  of  trade 
journals  and  is  alive  as  to  the  star  changes  and 
movements.  If  he  knows  for  a  certainty  that 
Ethel  Clayton  is  with  Robertson-Cole,  you  are 
on  the  right  track;  but  if  he  is  in  doubt,  ask 
him  to  get  this  information  for  you.  He  can 
find  out  from  the  exchange  where  he  buys  his 


188 


Marketing  the  Story 


pictures,  or  from  the  road  salesmen,  if  he  is 
willing  to  go  this  far  for  you.  There  are  ex- 
changes, or  branch  salesrooms,  of  the  big  dis- 
tributing corporations  in  many  big  centres. 
The  exhibitors  frequently  go  from  their  towns 
to  these  centres,  or  see  the  salesmen  on  tour. 
These  exchanges  are  generally  in  one  section 
of  a  town,  and  it  is  not  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
for  your  theatre  man  to  ask  among  the  ex- 
change managers  the  whereabouts  of  a  certain 
star  or  producer. 

A  great  many  writers  read  in  the  papers 
that  Norma  Talmadge,  Constance  Talmadge, 
Nazimova,  Jackie  Coogan,  Dorothy  Phillips 
or  Ruth  Roland  are  at  the  United  Studios, 
Hollywood.  They  send  stories  they  believe 
suitable  for  these  stars  to  United  Studios, 
thinking  that  these  United  controls  these 
companies.  Either  that  or  they  send  any  sort 
of  a  story  to  United,  believing  that  a  big  plant 
will  buy  stories  of  all  kinds.  This  is  a  vital 
mistake.  These  are  only  commercial  studios, 
making  no  pictures  as  an  organization,  but 
simply  renting  space  and  facilities  to  pro- 
ducers and  stars.  If  the  scripts  are  marked 


"How  I  Did  It" 


"for  Constance  Talmadge"  or  "Nazimova," 
they  are  turned  over  to  these  companies.  But 
otherwise,  United,  with  no  scenario  depart- 
ment, simply  returns  the  stories  to  the  senders 
with  a  slip  saying  it  does  not  buy  scripts. 

In  contrast  to  this  situation  at  United, 
where  the  fifteen  or  so  tenant  companies  buy 
their  own  stories,  is  the  condition  at  Fox's, 
Lasky's,  Universal,  and  others. 

The  Lasky-Paramount  is  a  combination 
which  makes  and  distributes  its  own  pictures. 
Therefore,  stories  for  Lasky's  stars,  or  for  bal- 
anced casts  of  Lasky  stock  players,  are  sent  to 
the  scenario  editor  of  the  Lasky  Studios,  in 
Hollywood.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the 
Universal  and  William  Fox  and  Goldwyn. 
Their  studios  and  scenario  departments  are  all 
on  the  West  Coast — Lasky  and  Fox  in  Holly- 
wood, Universal  at  Universal  City,  and  Gold- 
wyn and  Ince  at  Culver  City,  Cal. 

There  is  always  a  cry  for  stories  for  the 
screen,  and  many  are  never  placed  because  the 
writer  cannot  find  the  producer  and  the  pro- 
ducer cannot  find  the  writer. 


140 


Marketing  the  Story 


There  are  several  agents  in  Los  Angeles 
who  do  nothing  but  sell  scripts  on  a  commis- 
sion basis,  but  they  will  not  relish  my  printing 
their  names,  as  for  some  reason  or  other  they 
rely  solely  on  known  authors  for  stories  to 
peddle  to  the  producers. 

The  proposition  of  marketing  your  story 
will  require  much  care  on  your  part — for  if 
you  send  it  around  indiscriminately,  you  will 
lose  months,  and  get  practically  no  results. 

For  example,  suppose  I  am  appointed 
scenario  editor  by  Director  Frank  Lloyd,  who 
directed  Norma  Talmadge  in  "The  Eternal 
Flame"  and  Jackie  Coogan  in  "Oliver  Twist." 
The  formation  of  Mr.  Lloyd's  production  unit 
is  announced  in  the  papers.  The  deluge  of 
scripts  commences.  The  publicity  has  made 
it  plain  that  Mr.  Lloyd  will  not  star  or  feature 
any  player,  but  will  make  balanced-cast  pro- 
ductions. Along  comes  a  story  from  Wakoola, 
Alabama,  or  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City, 
about  an  individual  who  will  be  the  outstand- 
ing personage  of  the  production.  A  star- 
story  that  cannot  be  changed  for  balanced- 
cast  purposes.  I  find  that  my  script  is  unsuit- 


141 


"How  I  Did  It 


able  for  Mr.  Lloyd,  and  back  it  goes  with  many 
others,  with  a  printed  slip.  I  would  like  to 
tell  the  writer,  "This  story  might  do  for  Miss 
Dupont,  send  it  to  Universal."  But  I  can't. 
I  haven't  the  time  to  do  this,  nor  has  any 
other  scenario  editor. 

Let  me  advise  you  once  more: 

Read  the  papers.  Carefully  note  star  and 
producer  changes.  File  and  index  their  ad- 
dresses. Know  your  story.  Know  fairly  well 
whom  it  would  suit,  and  then  proceed. 

As  an  example  of  just  how  far  behind  the 
times  some  writers  are,  stories  are  still  being 
mailed  to  the  Robert  Brunton  Studios,  marked 
for  "Bessie  Barriscale"  and  "Frank  Keenan." 
The  Robert  Brunton  Studios  are  a  year  out 
of  being  (having  become  United  Studios), 
Robert  Brunton  has  quit  production,  and  Bes- 
sie Barriscale  and  Frank  Keenan  are  picture 
stars  no  longer.  "J.  Warren  Kerrigan  Com- 
pany, Brunton  Studios,"  is  also  the  address  on 
scripts  still  arriving  from  writers  who  do  not 
know  that  J.  Warren  Kerrigan  was  off  the 
screen  for  some  time. 


141 


Marketing  the  Story 


Think,  before  you  mail  your  script.  You 
certainly  would  not  send  Mary  Pickford  a 
story  in  which  you  would  have  her  appear 
as  a  Spanish  adventuress,  and  you  would  smile 
at  the  thought  of  trying  to  get  Charlie  Chaplin 
to  become  a  virile  cowpuncher  of  the  plains 
for  the  purposes  of  your  story.  Very  well — 
then  set  your  mind  the  best  you  can  as  to  just 
which  star  could  do  your  story,  or  which  pro- 
ducer might  consider  it  as  a  balanced-cast 
picture. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HIGHLIGHTS  OF  PRODUCTION 
TECHNICALITIES 

Although  I  have  written  hundreds  of  arti- 
cles designed  to  assist  the  aspiring  photodra- 
matist,  and  to  "polish  off,"  so  to  speak,  the 
writer  who  has  already  "arrived,"  I  have 
never  given  out  for  publication  any  data  or  in- 
formation concerning  the  production  of  mo- 
tion pictures  from  the  technical  standpoint, 
for  the  reason  that  I  considered  I  would  he 
divulging  some  of  the  pet  secrets  of  the 
business. 

I  feel  now,  however,  that  I  should  give  the 
writer  some  of  the  highlights  of  production 
technicalities,  for  the  reason  that  a  better  idea 
of  just  how  far  the  technical  experts  of  a 
studio  can  go  in  the  making  of  a  picture  with 
unusual  angles,  should  give  the  writer  a 
broader  view,  and  lessen  a  marked  inclination 
of  many  photodramatists  to  fear  submitting 
stories  with  supposedly  difficult  requirements. 


144 


Highlights  of  Production   Technicalities 

It  has  been  apparent  to  me  for  several 
years  that  many  writers  have  become  obsessed 
with  the  idea  that  stories  they  have  completed 
in  their  minds,  but  have  never  put  on  paper, 
are  too  big  to  be  produced.  Without  any 
knowledge  of  the  great  resources  that  are  at 
the  command  of  the  up-to-date  producer,  they 
allow  good  plots  to  slumber,  undeveloped  and 
unrecorded,  because  they  imagine  the  physical 
requirements  of  their  scripts  would  take  the 
producer  and  his  players  to  remote  corners  of 
the  earth,  or  put  him  to  some  outrageous  ex- 
pense because  of  some  extraordinary  locales 
that  play  an  important  part  in  the  filming  of 
the  narrative. 

To  offset  this  very  prevalent  idea,  let  me 
touch  lightly  on  the  facilities  the  producer  or 
director  has  at  his  finger  tips  that  will  make 
possible  the  filming  of  almost  any  conceivable 
type  of  screenable  story. 

All  of  the  large  studios  are  well-stocked 
with  properties,  furniture,  tapestries,  etc.,  and 
have  on  their  stages  and  on  the  exterior  acre- 
ages standing  sets,  both  rain  and  fire-proof, 
of  all  the  countries  of  the  world.  If  there  is 


146 


"How  I  Did  It" 


anything  wanted,  it  is  built,  accurately  and 
in  a  hurry. 

Every  well-equipped  studio  has  a  location 
department,  whose  attaches  are  veritable  walk- 
ing atlases  of  the  world,  and  in  addition  they 
have  on  file  thousands  of  photographs,  de- 
scriptions and  accurate  measurements  of 
structures  and  localities  of  practically  all  the 
countries  of  the  world.  Lumber,  beaver- 
board,  plaster  and  paint  will  serve  for  the 
building  of  a  replica  of  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, the  Capitol  at  Washington,  a  street  of 
India,  or  an  igloo  of  the  Far  North. 

The  individual,  or  independent  producer, 
who  has  only  a  small  operating  plant,  can 
rent  anything  in  the  line  of  sets  or  furniture 
from  the  larger  plants. 

One  large  studio  in  Hollywood  has  eleven 
warehouses  stocked  with  period,  character 
and  modern  furniture,  from  the  latest  concert 
grand  piano,  to  the  Louis  XVI  bed,  beauti- 
fully carved  and  with  tapestried  canopy.  And 
then  there  are  period  and  modern  vehicles, 
from  the  coach  of  Napoleon  and  the  old  Rus- 
sian droshky  to  the  old  New  York  high-back 


Highlights  of  Production  Technicalities 


taxicab  of  1910,  to  the  finest  of  "traps,"  and 
even  locomotives,  fire  engines  and  aeroplanes. 
The  tapestries  and  paintings  of  all  ages  are 
available.  All  of  these  things  have  been  made 
in  the  studio  mill,  and  by  its  craftsmen  and 
artisans.  They  will  reproduce  anything  that 
hands  can  make. 

In  this  studio,  a  trip  through  the  exterior 
acreage,  where  the  permanent  sets  are  erected, 
we  find  the  tank,  Mexican  village,  with  three 
complete  units ;  the  old  California  or  Mexican 
hacienda,  with  patio  frontage ;  the  Italian  fish- 
ing village,  Egyptian  temple  ruins,  cave  or 
mine  entrance,  New  England  and  Southern 
streets,  New  York  or  London  tenement  dis- 
trict, Inca  ruins,  old  New  York  trolley  car 
and  horse-drawn  car,  New  York  street  of 
1880,  Western  streets,  New  York  dock-front 
street,  railway  and  freight  stations,  street  of 
India,  London  residence  of  1850,  old  English 
castle,  courtyard  of  a  Hindu  home,  Brahmin 
temple  ruins  of  India,  Chinese  street,  large 
French  chateau,  early  French  houses  and 
streets,  rural  homes,  Indian  clubhouse  and  a 
log  cabin. 


147 


"flow  /  Did  It" 


Nothing  in  the  line  of  sets,  whether  it  be 
on  the  stage  or  in  the  open,  is  ever  overbuilt. 
The  construction  is  kept  within  the  line  of  the 
camera,  so  that  no  labor  or  money  is  wasted. 

As  the  skill  of  the  studio  artisan  develops, 
trips  on  "location"  are  becoming  less  and  less 
frequent.  Journeys  away  from  the  studio  cost 
a  great  deal  of  money,  and  in  the  majority  of 
cases  the  producer  can  build  or  secure  his  "lo- 
cation" right  in  the  studio. 

By  the  trick  of  camera,  lighting  and  con- 
struction, scenes  of  almost  any  country  of  the 
world  can  be  made  on  the  studio  stage.  Rain, 
ice  and  snow  devices  are  a  very  important 
asset  to  production  within  the  studio  walls, 
as  is  the  tank. 

Rain  is  made  by  a  system  of  overhead  pipes 
and  sprinklers;  fallen  snow  is  imitated  with 
salt,  and  flying  snow  consists  of  powdered 
asbestos  released  from  a  wire-net  turnstile, 
and  is  blown  by  the  propeller  of  a  wind- 
machine.  This  device  will  provide  a  light 
breeze  or  a  furious  gale. 

On  even  the  warmest  day  in  Hollywood, 
while  the  sun  is  shining  brightly,  a  log 


148 


:>  !  K  A  N  D 


A  i.  A  •: 


« — d 


_ 

"        STRAND 

• 


During  the  Run  of  "Three  Gold  Coins,"  at  the  Strand  Theatre  in  San  Francisco, 

November,   1920,  the  Name  of  a   Photodramatist  was  Featured 

for  the  First  Time 


Highlights  of  Production   Technicalities 

cabin  is  covered  with  black  canvas  for  night 
effect,  and  is  lighted  from  within  by  the  usual 
equipment.  The  villian  drives  the  heroine 
out  into  a  fearful  blizzard.  He  opens  the  door 
of  the  cabin  and  we  see  snow  piled  about  the 
door,  ice  laden  trees  are  dimly  outlined,  and 
the  snow  and  wind  force  the  girl  back  into  the 
hut.  Another  shot  outside  shows  her  en- 
veloped by  the  storm,  and  the  whole  thing  has 
all  the  earmarks  of  having  been  made  in  a 
Far  Northern  country. 

The  tank  is  used  for  marine  scenes  and 
what  are  known  as  "miniatures."  The  tank 
is,  simply  a  very  large  and  bare  concrete  con- 
tainer, which  will  hold  probably  450,000  gal- 
lons of  water.  On  a  few  hours'  notice  it  is 
filled  and  dressed  to  become  a  millionaire's 
swimming  pool,  a  Dutch  mill  pond  with  mill- 
wheel  and  cottage,  creeks,  rivers,  the  turbu- 
lent ocean,  the  sewers  of  London  or  the 
lagoons  of  Venice. 

In  a  corner  of  the  tank  is  constructed  the 
private  landing  of  a  yacht  club,  a  rocky  beach, 
on  which  a  lifeless  body  is  cast,  or  the  wooded 
edge  of  a  rural  lake. 


149 


"How  I  Did  It" 


When  you  see,  in  a  motion  picture,  a  large 
vessel  burning  or  sinking  at  sea,  with  light- 
ning breaking  the  masts,  can  you  imagine  a 
producer  waiting  for  a  storm,  or  venturing 
into  it  for  some  photographic  effects?  He 
never  leaves  the  studio.  Miniatures  are  made 
mostly  at  night,  with  skillful  lighting  being 
employed  to  aid  the  deception.  The  vessel  to 
be  sunk  or  burned  is  rarely  larger  than  five 
feet  in  length.  Mechanical  devices  disturb 
the  water  to  the  desired  degree,  and  aid  in 
burning  and  sinking  the  vessel. 

The  duplicate  of  a  lightship,  rocking  in  a 
furious  storm,  can  be  built  in  the  studio  tank. 
The  helmsman  can  be  swept  overboard  by  a 
great  "wave,"  which  is  simply  a  great  volume 
of  water  released  from  an  elevated  wooden 
tank.  If  the  leading  man  or  feminine  star  do 
not  like  to  fall  into  the  cold  water,  fire  engines 
heat  it  with  pumped  steam. 

The  tank  is  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  long,  and  is  built  like  a  "T."  From  either 
end  of  the  tank  to  the  other,  at  that  distance, 
the  camera  will  not  record  a  great  width  of 
constructed  set,  and  the  side  of  a  great  ship 


150 


Highlights  of  Production  Technicalities 


can  be  placed  so  that  it  will  appear  as  if  the 
entire  vessel  were  broadside  to  the  camera.  In 
one  of  the  best  sea  pictures  ever  made,  the 
tank  was  used  for  the  attack  on  a  merchant 
vessel  by  a  submarine,  and  the  sinking  of  the 
"U"  boat  by  the  vessel's  guns. 

The  little  matter  of  putting  a  range  of 
mountains  directly  at  the  background  of  a  set 
when  there  is  not  even  a  hill  within  camera 
range  gives  absolutely  no  concern  to  the 
present-day  producer. 

Suppose  he  is  making  a  "Western"  melo- 
drama and  utilizes  one  of  the  typical  wild-and- 
woolly  streets  in  the  studio  acreage.  He  puts 
his  camera  in  place,  but  finds  that  at  the  end 
of  the  street  there  are  showing  the  minarets 
of  a  Persian  palace  that  are  part  of  an  adjoin- 
ing set.  Does  the  producer  set  up  a  howl  to 
the  studio  manager  and  demand  to  have  the 
Persian  settings  pulled  down?  Not  if  he  is 
fully  abreast  of  the  latest  methods  of  making 
the  moving  picture  camera  a  first  class  liar ! 

He  has  inspected  this  particular  "Western" 
street  previous  to  utilizing  it.  He  has  noted 
the  Persian  background  to  his  mining  town 


151 


"How  I  Did  It" 


thoroughfare.  A  day  or  so  ahead  of  time  the 
technical  department  of  the  studio  puts  an 
artist  to  work  painting  the  mountains  that  are 
required  on  a  piece  of  glass  about  five  feet  by 
seven.  The  mountain  range  is  painted  in  oils 
on  the  centre  of  the  glass  so  that  the  painted 
area  takes  up  about  three  or  four  feet  by  one 
foot. 

When  the  artist  has  completed  his  work  the 
camera  is  focused  properly  on  the  street,  and 
the  glass  with  its  painted  mountains  is  placed 
about  six  feet  in  front  of  the  lens  and  ar- 
ranged so  that  when  the  cameraman  looks 
through  his  finder  he  can  see  a  mountainous 
background  in  perfect  position.  When  these 
"takes"  are  projected  on  the  screen  it  is  practi- 
cally impossible  for  even  a  trained  eye  to  dis- 
cover the  illusion. 

The  last  time  I  saw  them  working  the 
"glass"  was  at  a  studio  where  they  were  utiliz- 
ing the  tank  as  an  outdoor  swimming  pool  of 
a  millionaire's  home.  The  camera  was  shoot- 
ing toward  the  house,  which  was  indeed  pala- 
tial, only  it  was  but  one  story  high,  strangely 
enough.  I  was  just  wondering  why  the  resi- 


152 


Highlights  of  Production  Technicalities 

dential  part  of  the  estate  was  so  "squatty" 
when  I  looked  toward  the  camera  again  and 
saw  our  old  friend  the  "glass,"  with  the  up- 
per story  of  the  home  painted  upon  it. 

This  innocent  device  saves  a  lot  of  con- 
struction money  and  many  trips  to  location. 

It  never  helps  the  motion  picture  business 
any  to  tell  its  secrets  to  outsiders,  but  I  am 
speaking  of  these  few  devices,  the  others  be- 
ing the  tank  and  the  rain,  snow  and  wind 
machines,  to  make  clear  the  fact  that  the  stu- 
dios will  meet  almost  any  requirements  your 
story  forces  upon  them.  My  publishers  are 
not  encouraging  the  curious  to  purchase  this 
volume,  so  I  feel  I  am  not  hurting  the  busi- 
ness any  by  telling  the  studio  tricks. 

A  lot  of  airplane  "stunt  stuff"  that  looks 
on  the  screen  as  if  it  were  made  high  in  the 
air  is  photographed  only  a  few  feet  above  the 
ground  or  studio  stage,  in  the  latter  instance 
in  front  of  a  painted  "drop." 

When  Rudyard  Kipling  consented  to  have 
his  "Without  Benefit  of  Clergy"  made  into  a 
motion  picture,  he  wanted  the  producer  to 
agree  that  the  filming  would  take  place  in 


153 


"Hott>  /  Did  It 


Lahore,  where  the  locale  of  the  story  is  laid, 
and  where  he,  Kipling,  spent  his  boyhood.  It 
was  hard  to  convince  Kipling  that  an  exact  re- 
production of  the  environment  of  Lahore 
could  be  effected  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Southern  California  mountains.  But  he  was 
finally  prevailed  upon  to  loan  the  producer  his 
personal  photographs  and  sketches  of  Lahore. 
When  the  picture  was  completed  in  Holly- 
wood, and  shown  to  Kipling  in  his  English 
home,  he  declared  that  he  might  believe  him- 
self back  in  Lahore,  so  faithfully  had  the  story 
been  filmed.  Dr.  Horace  R.  M.  Maddock,  a 
former  resident  of  India  for  forty  years,  and  a 
friend  of  Kipling,  was  engaged  in  Hollywood 
as  technical  adviser  for  the  picture.  Later  he 
was  engaged  for  a  Ruth  Roland  serial,  which 
had  an  Indian  locale,  and  for  Norma  Tal- 
madge's  "The  Voice  from  the  Minaret." 


164 


CHAPTER  XII. 

L'ENVOI 

In  the  series  of  articles  which  compose 
this  book,  I  have  endeavored  to  cover  every 
phase  of  photoplaywriting.  I  have  tried  to 
show  those  who  aspire  to  write  for  the  screen 
where  the  majority  of  ideas  are  gleaned;  how 
to  differentiate  between  the  good  and  the  bad; 
how  to  construct  the  story;  the  way  to  build 
up  dramatic  situations  and  startling  climaxes; 
.the  time,  care  and  thought  necessary  to  bring 
about  success  to  the  aspirant;  how  to  market 
the  completed  product;  the  prices  being  paid 
for  good  stories;  the  great  demand  that  there 
is  for  tailor-made  screen  stories,  and  the  real 
scarcity  there  is  at  the  present  time  of  good 
photoplays.  In  fact,  I  have  attempted  to 
give  the  reader  the  benefit  of  my  experience. 
What  I  have  written  has  not  been  overheard, 
or  the  results  of  what  I  have  read.  It  has  been 
a  reproduction  of  my  own  personal  expe- 
riences in  writing  for  the  screen. 


155 


How  I  Did  It" 


I  have  not  attempted  to  teach  you.  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  understood  as  a  teacher,  or  in- 
structor in  the  art  of  photoplaywriting.  But 
I  am  always  willing  to  give  whatever  aid  I  can 
to  those  who  are  desirous  of  making  sincere 
contributions  to  the  screen.  If  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  inspiring  new  courage  in  those  who 
have  attempted  and,  in  their  own  eyes,  failed, 
then  this  book  has  not  been  written  in  vain. 
If  I  have  been  responsible  in  arousing  a  little 
more  enthusiasm  in  those  who  have  been  dis- 
couraged, then  I  am  indeed  satisfied.  For  I 
really  believe  that  if  the  aspiring  screen 
writers  have  studied  this  book  carefully,  and 
have  digested  what  I  have  put  before  them, 
they  should  be  able  to  make  considerable 
progress  along  the  trail. 

But,  unless  the  aspiring  writer  has  real 
creative  ability,  and  can  construct  a  story 
which  will  run  smoothly,  with  logical  se- 
quences, then  all  I  have  written  will  be  of  no 
avail.  Unless  the  student  has  a  natural,  God- 
given  talent  for  constructing  plots,  and  is  able 
to  decide  what  makes  a  good  story,  then  he 
may  as  well  give  up  and  turn  to  some  other 


156 


VEnvoi 


line  of  work.  Creative  ability  is  the  funda- 
mental basis  of  all  writing,  and  unless  you 
have  it  you  cannot  write.  No  one  can  give  it 
to  you ;  it  has  to  be  born  in  you ;  it  comes  into 
the  world  with  you,  and  it  goes  out  with  you 
when  you  leave. 

A  couple  of  years  ago  there  were  about 
20,000  amateur  writers  submitting  stories  to 
the  various  film  companies  of  Los  Angeles  and 
New  York.  During  the  past  year,  less  than 
10,000  scripts  were  received  by  the  producers 
of  Los  Angeles.  The  trouble  at  present  is 
that  not  enough  people  are  trying  to  write  for 
the  screen.  Some  have  sent  in  stories,  and  be- 
cause they  happened  to  be  rejected,  these 
writers  have  grown  discouraged  and  decided 
that  they  were  not  fitted  for  this  work.  There 
is  a  great  famine  right  now  for  good  screen 
stories,  and  those  who  are  willing  to  take  the 
screen  seriously  and  refuse  to  allow  them- 
selves to  become  discouraged  will  reap  the 
harvest. 

I  know  of  one  firm  that  received  only 
3500  scripts  from  amateur  writers  last  year. 
This  firm  is  one  of  the  largest  in  the  industry. 


157 


"How  I  Did  It 


What  has  become  of  those  who  were  trying 
to  write  photoplays?  My  only  answer  is  that 
they  must  have  grown  discouraged. 

About  two  years  ago,  I  assisted  in  the  prep- 
aration of  a  questionnaire  for  the  Palmer 
Photoplay  Corporation.  This  corporation  is 
the  only  institution  of  its  kind,  as  far  as  I 
have  been  able  to  learn,  that  enjoys  the  en- 
dorsement and  support  of  the  leading  pro- 
ducers. Besides  instructing  in  the  art  of 
screen  writing,  it  produces  motion  pictures 
from  stories  written  by  the  students  whom  it 
has  trained,  and  was  the  first  producing  or- 
ganization to  pay  royalties,  or  percentage  of 
profits,  to  photoplaywrights.  The  Palmer 
questionnaire  consists  of  a  number  of  ques- 
tions asked  aspiring  photodramatists,  with  a 
view  to  ascertaining  whether  they  have  crea- 
tive ability.  It  is  really  a  creative  test,  and 
the  Palmer  people  refuse  to  enroll  those  who 
cannot  answer  the  questions  I  prepared  sat- 
isfactorily. 

It  might  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to  know 
50,000  applicants  last  year  failed  to  pass  this 
test.  This  will  surprise  a  great  many  people 


158 


UEnvoi 

no  doubt,  and  it  is  a  remarkable  evidence  of 
the  sincerity  of  that  organization  in  its  quest 
for  new  screen  writing  talent.  Those  50,000 
were  all  prospective  students,  and  by  rejecting 
them,  the  Palmer  people  sacrificed  what 
would  have  been  a  huge  financial  gain.  But 
they  preferred  to  do  this  rather  than  accept 
tuitions  from  students  they  knew  they  could 
never  develop  into  screen  authors. 

There  are  hundreds  trying  to  write  for  the 
screen  who  have  no  creative  ability,  and  there 
are  thousands  who  have  plenty  of  natural 
talent  and  this  so-called  creative  ability,  who 
are  not  making  an  effort  to  contribute  to  this 
great  art.  The  latter  are  probably  of  the 
opinion  that  the  office  of  the  average  producer 
is  flooded  daily  with  manuscripts.  But  that 
is  the  wrong  conception.  The  trouble  at  pres- 
ent is  that  there  are  not  enough  people  writ- 
ing for  the  screen.  The  screen  is  in  need  of 
stories,  better  stories.  There  is  a  scarcity  of 
good  material  and  there  will  be  just  as  long 
as  those  who  are  capable  of  writing  good 
stories  permit  themselves  to  become  dis- 
couraged because  they  do  not  sell  their  work 


169 


"How  I  Did  It" 


to  the  first  producer  to  whom  they  submit 
their  product. 

(The  End.) 


160 


THE  VAN  LOAN  LETTER 

• 

Every  time  you  attend  a  motion  picture  theatre,  how 
would  you  like  to  have  H.  H.  Van  Loan  beside  you,  so 
that  at  the  end  of  the  performance  he  could  go  over  the 
production  with  you,  giving  you  the  high  lights  of  the 
story,  and  a  liberal  discussion  of  its  theme,  plot  construc- 
tion, unities  and  sequences? 

Or  better  still,  wouldn't  you  like  to  receive  an  advance 
letter  from  Mr.  Van  Loan  containing  a  constructive  and 
critical  analysis  of  the  important  photoplays  of  the  day  ? 

We  can  readily  anticipate  your  answer,  and  believe  you 
will  receive  with  intense  enthusiasm  the  announcement 
that  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  motion  picture, 
a  noted  screen  authority  is  to  coach  the  aspiring  photo- 
dramatist  by  means  of  criticism  and  comparison. 

Just  pause  a  moment — and  think  what  this  will  mean 
,to  you!  You  will  have  as  a  basis  for  your  study  the 
actual  motion  pictures  that  come  to  your  theatre  from  day 
to  day!  In  advance  of  each  picture  Mr.  Van  Loan  will 
send  you  his  analytical  review.  You  can  peruse  it  before 
the  picture  is  shown.  Afterward,  you  will  be  enabled, 
with  the  aid  of  his  guidance,  to  thoroughly  analyze  the 
various  qualities  of  the  picture — whether  they  be  meri- 
torious or  faulty. 

Perhaps,  at  this  stage  of  your  study  of  the  technique  of 
photoplay  writing,  you  find  yourself  unable  to  properly 
dissect,  so  to  speak,  the  various  twistings  and  turnings  of 
the  screen  stories  of  the  day.  You  readily  perceive  the 
novelties  or  oddities  in  story  construction,  but  find  your- 
self unable  to  apply  them  toward  helping  you  to  write 
better  stories. 

"The  Miracle  Man,"  "Behind  the  Door,"  "Dr.  Cali- 
garfs  Cabinet,"  "The  Golem"  and  "Blind  Husbands" 
had  unusual  twists  of  story  construction.  The  student  of 


screen  writing  who  saw  these  pictures  undoubtedly  found 
much  food  for  thought  in  every  one  of  them.  They  repre- 
sented radical  departures  in  theme,  unusual  situations  and 
startling  climaxes.  These  were  all  typical  screen  stories 
and  had  all  the  elements  necessary  to  make  of  them  defi- 
nite successes. 

When  you  saw  these  great  masterpieces,  you  would 
have  profited  much  more  from  their  unique  construction 
had  an  authority  of  Mr.  Van  Loan's  attainments  pro- 
vided you  with  a  critical  and  constructive  analysis  of 
them. 

The  "Van  Loan  Letter"  will  soon  be  a  reality.  It  will 
not  only  furnish  you  with  an  unprecedented  means  of 
study  of  the  photoplay,  but  will  also  serve  as  a  guide  for 
the  members  of  your  family  who  are  interested  in  the 
motion  picture  solely  as  a  source  of  entertainment.  It 
will  advise  them  what  pictures  to  see,  and  what  pictures 
not  to  see.  It  will  be  issued  monthly  and  will  contain  no 
motion  picture  advertising. 

Mr.  Van  Loan's  reviews  of  the  current  photoplays  will 
be  honest  and  unbiased.  They  will  be  compiled  by  a 
recognized  authority  whose  long  experience  as  a  success- 
ful photodramatist  and  critic  equips  him  to  command  the 
confidence  of  the  aspiring  screen  writer  and  the  theatre- 
going  public  alike. 

The  "Van  Loan  Letter"  will  be  available  through 
direct  subscription  only,  and  will  not  be  sold  on  news- 
stands. We  will  be  glad  to  inform  you  of  the  date  of 
the  first  issue  and  the  subscription  rate,  if  you  will  send 
your  name  and  address  to  "H.  H.  Van  Loan,  Incorpor- 
ated, Security  Building,  Hollywood." 


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